


Button It!

by blue_dalmatian



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, School, Secret Santa, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_dalmatian/pseuds/blue_dalmatian
Summary: Alison Morte - just your average Year 9 student.Well... except the fact that she is about to start afresh in a new school, filled with some of the most bizarre characters she'll ever meet, and that's just the teachers!Welcome to Button Academy!





	1. Before the Riffraff

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Just before you read, I want to say 'thank you' for reading this fic - I hope you enjoy it. This hasn't been beta read, so if you spot any errors, please let me know!
> 
> This fic wouldn't exist without the input and ideas of the lovely people in the ghiscord!

It was calm - for now. It was all calm in Button Academy. However, the faculty knew that this serene situation wouldn't last forever. The staff had 24 hours to prepare for the onslaught of students, descending upon the school as a single crimson sea.  
Stepping over the puddles that littered the yard, Humphrey Courtnay sighed, rubbing his hand over his tired face as he headed towards the dilapidated building; he definitely was not ready to return. But, they needed to get prepared. 

“Morning,” Humphrey remarked to the staff room, several fatigued responses following his entrance. Cheerily, Kitty greeted everyone in the room, flashing everyone a bright smile. Some groaned, some politely smiled back, Julian even winces and squints - this level of enthusiasm so early in the morning was too much for him to deal with.  
“God, spare me!” groaned Thomas, gazing dramatically at the ceiling whilst abandoning his copy of Vanity Fair. All of the teachers were occupying themselves quietly or nursing cups of coffee when the headmaster walked in.  
“Kitty, maybe tone down the joy for a bit - some of us still need a bit of a pick-me-up this time in the morning!” Pat, the school’s resident guidance counsellor and PSHE teacher, stated, giving Miss Aster a small smile in return.  
“How were the six weeks?” Humphrey enquired, shuffling towards the kettle.  
Captain Theodore Majors, simply known as the ‘Captain’ to those who were close to him, cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I attended a military airshow. Riveting spectacle, marvellous performance. I certainly enjoyed it.”  
Thomas Thorne also straightened himself up, attempting to make himself appear taller than Theodore - he detested not being in the spotlight. “I spent the entirety of the holiday working on my prose-“ he started. However, he was rapidly cut off by a chorus of groans.  
“What on earth is the matter?” He demanded.  
“Nobody wants to hear you ramble about your incomplete poetry, Thorne! Save the rambling for the English classroom where it will have the slightest semblance of usefulness!” Fanny Button declared, her voice booming across the entire staff room; Humphrey had to grab his mug with both hands so it wouldn't plummet off the counter. Alas, this gesture would make no effect.  
BOOM.  
The pale, wooden door of the room abruptly slammed open, Robin Moonah barrelling into the room like a crazed bear. Humphrey’s mug simply gave up and fell off the counter, the ceramic shattering and the tea running across the floor.  
“Morning!” Robin bellowed.  
“Good lord, man!” Theodore muttered from his seat.  
Thomas jumped up with a start.  
“Robin!” Julian stated matter-of-factly, looking at Thomas, still recovering from the fright  
“I'll gets a cloth for cleanings,” Mary announced, leaving the room hastily in search of the cleaning cupboard.  
“Right,” the Captain stood up. “A.O.B - any other business?”  
Several teachers raised their hands.  
“Well, I've got some,” he continued. Those who had raised their hands lowered them. “Fanny, I understand that your niece, Alison Morte, will be enrolling this year, correct?”  
The Maths teacher nodded in agreement.  
“Right, well, we have a small matter to attend to concerning which form tutor she should join. I would have elected myself, but I have the new recruits this year,” he stated, Mary bustling into the room with a cloth as he spoke.  
"Ooh. Ooh!” Mary piped up from the floor, mopping up the tea. “She should join my form group, we be glad to have Miss Alison!”  
“How dare you suggest that the young maiden should join your... your... Bedlam of a form group! Mine is clearly the superior choice,” Thomas stated, outraged.  
Suddenly, the small staff room erupted into an argument, several teachers arguing over which form group Alison Morte should join.  
“AAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!”  
Robin roared, startling the group into a stunned silence.  
“Is simple. You two have full tutors. No seats left. Me have three empty seats. Plenty room with me. Alison join me, or we vote for tutor,” Robin explained calmly to the group.  
“Well,” Thomas started, looking at his shoes. “I agree - we are at full capacity, Mary and I.”  
“I agree too,” Mary replied, nodding her head. In addition to the two warring teachers, the rest of the teachers agreed that since Robin had a couple of spare spaces in his form group, it would only make sense that Alison would join the class of Mr Moonah.  
“Not just a pretty face!” Robin responded in a sing-song tone.  
___________________  
Creaking knees aside, Theodore was managing to set up his History classroom relatively easily. After a cup of much-needed coffee and a chin-wag with the other members of staff, all of the teachers had scattered like soldiers under fire to go and set up their classrooms, work on lesson plans and other mundane activities. The Captain has just finished organising the textbooks, preparing himself to tweak his lesson plan when there was a knock on the ivory door of the room.  
“Enter!” hollered the History teacher, his gaze firmly fixed on the document in his desk.  
“Brought those rulers for you, Captain, my class had spare ones,” responded Pat, clutching an array of rulers.  
“Ah, of course. Thank you, Patrick,” replied Theodore, raising himself from his seat in order to approach the PSHE teacher. “Have any other incidents arisen when I've been gone?”  
“Aside from Fanny yelling at Kitty to tune the violins instead of playing them and Robin managing to singe his lesson plans with the Bunsen burner, not a lot,” Pat stated.  
“Very well, is that all, Patrick?” Theodore enquired.  
“Yes, that's all!”  
“Is it really?”  
Pat sighed.  
“Not really. It's going to be strange, isn't it? The deputy head’s niece, roaming the corridor, mixing in with all the other kids. It's going to be strange, innit, I mean, what if Julian scares her off? We all remember that Sex-Ed assembly he did last year! Oh gosh, what if she thinks we're all monster men?!”  
Rapidly, Pat descended into a never-ending spiral of panic.  
"Don't be concerned, Patrick," Theodore commented, patting the counsellor on the back. "If Fanny thought that Alison would not operate with the school's tactics, she wouldn't have enlisted Alison, would she?"  
Pat nodded in agreement, the Captain glancing over the man's shoulder at the clock on the wall.  
"Right," Theodore remarked, earnestly. "It's 1900 hours - seven o' clock. Aside from maybe Humphrey, everyone else would have departed by now. Why don't you get yourself back to base, get some rest, and... what's that word that Julian uses?"  
"Chillax?"  
"Yes, 'chillax'. Just go home and get some rest, Patrick, alright?" Theodore gave the tiniest of fond smiles - the kind that don't emerge often.  
Pat sighed, "I guess you're right, Theo. Carol will be expecting me!  
Theodore Majors nodded. "My better-half will be expecting me back too. He'll be waiting."  
With that final, yet simple exchange, the two teachers bid farewell to each other, and left the building.

_____________________________

Weaving slowly amongst the numerous cars in the dark, Humphrey made his way back to his car - he always seemed to be the final person haunting the halls of the school. Ready to leave, he unlocked the car, got in and shut the door, taking one last look at the peaceful Button Academy.  
"It's going to be one hell of a day tomorrow!"


	2. Tudor Lords and Ties

“Oh, cease with the whining! I don't care what you say, you still have to wear it, young lady!”

The day was here: Tuesday. This wasn't a run-of-the mill Tuesday, a tedious, boring day of the week: this is the day that Alison Morte would first step foot in to Button Academy. Currently, Alison was stood in the living room, complaining about the uniform to her aunt, Fanny, who was growing more irritated by the comments with every passing second.

As she stood in the living room, all Alison could think of was how... uncomfortable the uniform was.

Rubbing against her neck, the white, starch shirt was paired with a v-neck pullover in an overly-vibrant shade of scarlet and polished formal shoes, as well as a tie, pleated skirt and knee-length socks - all in a rather bland slate colour. 

In short, she despised it.

“I look like a Tudor lord!” she exclaimed, gesturing up and down herself, as if that would make Fanny understand her point more clearly. 

“You will wear the garments, regardless of discomfort!” retorted the elder woman. Clearly, the gesturing didn’t have the desired effect. Alison's hands dropped down by her waist in despair. 

“When do we leave? Want to get there early, I would like to get a sense of the place without accidentally running into a mammoth of a Year 11,” Alison asked.

“We leave in five minutes, we’ll arrive for eight - plenty of time to look around before the riffraff flood in at eight-thirty!” Fanny responded, bustling out of the room to fetch her niece’s backpack. 

Sighing, Alison scrutinised her pumps; a million different thoughts raced through her head. What would the kids be like? Would she fit in? Would the teachers be strict, or would they all be nut jobs? However, Alison was dragged out of her thoughts by the weight of her bag landing into her hands.

Fanny coughed, grabbing her attention. “Come along, Alison - time doesn't stop for you, young lady!”

_____________________

 

Gathering around the window of the staff room, all of the teachers were patiently awaiting Fanny and Alison’s arrival.

“Oh, I do hope she's lovely!” announced Kitty, grinning to herself.

“What we need is a student with backbone, obedience!” Theodore declared, straightening his back out.

“What an obscene suggestion! What we need is someone with wit, with passion! We need a new burst of life in this drab establishment!” Thomas countered, flapping his floral tie around.

“Shush, everyone!” Kitty butted in. “They're here!”

Everyone started bustling around the window, muttering wildly to both themselves and each other. They were here!

___________________

Like a chimney, Fanny’s 1930s Bentley spluttered and coughed smoke as it pulled in to the car park. 

“Auntie, are you sure that the MOT isn't due?”

“Quite sure. Better than that ...cube Mr Scout insists on driving!”

Peering out of the window, Alison drank in the architecture. It was slightly underwhelming: the crumbling building was once known as Button House, a building owned by an ancestor of Fanny Button. Unfortunately, the building had seen better days, as the the brickwork is starting to crumble at the corners, the stairs are beginning to groan (if too many people step on them) and, according to Fanny, one Geography classroom is off limits due to a leak that they're apparently trying to fix.

Emphasis on the ’apparently'.

As she stepped out of the vehicle and began to approach the vast double doors, an odd sense of pride bubbled inside of her. 

“I can't believe that you basically built this from the ground up! It's really cool!” Alison praised Fanny.

“Thank you,” replied Fanny smiling. Then, her lips pulled into a tight line. “But now we're on school premises, that's Mrs Button to you! Now, run along, go have a snoop - I’m positive that I have a group of juvenile teachers to put in line!”

And with that, Alison swung open the dark doors, and entered.

____________________

Fanny stormed into the staff room.

“Must you stand at the window, gawking?” she demanded. Whilst Alison and her were outside, the Maths teacher had spotted the gaggle of adults waving at them from the window. “Thank god Alison didn't see you idiots! She would have thought you were all deranged!”

Pat and Theodore gave each a knowing look as she said this, everyone else peering over their shoulders and greeting her in a nonchalant manner.

“So,” she continued, “what does Alison have first?”

Julian’s smirk grew as he spun around.

“Urgh...” was all she could remark. She needed a strong tea, urgently.

_________________

Miss Morte had spent a good twenty minutes pottering around the school. To her, everyone seemed normal so far. 

“Right, might as well go to registration. Room... 58! Science, apparently,” Alison muttered to herself.

Pacing down the corridor, she eventually found the room, a rather crooked and singed sign saying ‘Mr R. Moonah’ pinned to it. 

“Well, here we go!” she announced to no-one, stretching the ‘o’ sound as she entered the room.

However, she stopped dead in her tracks when she opened the door to find a youngish man with dark hair sat at a desk. He looked around her age.

“You alright?” she asked him, greeting him awkwardly.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm good - you the new girl?” he returned, looking up at her.

“That would be me! I’m Alison Morte,” she stated, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

He returned the gesture.

“I’m Mike. Mike Cooper!”

The pair grinned awkwardly, before their lips stretched into fully fledged smiles.

“You know, Mike,” she started. “I think we're going to be good friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any errors, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)


	3. Tuesday Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please inform me of any spelling errors, as this hasn't been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord :)

The sound of the school bell pierced the air, several students beginning to fill up the classroom as it did so.  
“I have a spare seat next to me, if you want it?” Mike asked, pointing awkwardly to the (oddly melted) grey chair to his left.  
“Oh, thanks!” she responded, sliding hastily into the chair. “So, are mornings always busy or-“  
BANG  
“MORNING. ALL SIT!”  
Out of the blue, a teacher who looked like a bear dragged through a bus exploded into the classroom, causing the decrepit door to fly off the hinges. The object landed in the opposite classroom with a thunderous crash.  
“Mr Moonah! I will not accept this unruly disruption to my-“  
“Sorry, Thorne!” Mr Moonah bellowed, ambling towards a desk more burnt than a bonfire.  
“My name Moonah! Me teach Science, make things go BOOM!” guffawed Mr Moonah, gesturing wildly with his hands. “But you knew that already - had you for two years.”  
Alison sighed and stared at Mike, tightening her lips into a fine line.  
“So we have budget Tarzan for the next three years?”  
“Yep-pah!”  
________________

Ten minutes and one shattered test tube later, Alison was meandering down the corridor with Mike, consulting their timetables.  
“So,” she muttered, staring down at the chart, “I'm in room 69 with a Mr Fawcett?”  
“Oh no,” Mike muttered, his voice gradually growing louder. “Oh no, oh no.”  
“What's wrong?”  
“Me - I'm in room 69, Mr Fawcett!”  
“So I am? Is that bad, it's bad, isn't it, what's so bad about it?” Alison rattled out a series of questions in quick succession.  
Tapping her shoulder, Mike motioned her to follow, all the while muttering to her.  
“You'll see...”  
________________  
“Right,” announced the sandy-haired teacher, fiddling with the belt of the trousers. “My name, is Mr Fawcett, I am your Politics and Philosophy teacher for this year! Today’s lesson is Politics!”  
Darting around the room, the man’s beady eyes took in every face; most of them had either a terrified or an anxious expression.  
“So...” the man started, drawing the sound out. “Today’s lesson will be about elections! Normally, they're quite tedious affairs up front, but behind the scenes!”  
Mike raised his eyebrows and looked at Alison.  
The man chuckled, “That reminds me, of a funny story - 1997, my first General Election! You see, we had just finished a 'fundue' and a rousing session of-“  
“Mr Fawcett!”  
24 heads whipped to the open classroom door, where another teacher stood, dressed in a olive suit and clutching a swagger stick.  
“ This is neither the time, nor the place to be sharing this anecdote!” he chided the Politics teacher.  
“Bbeh-beh-beh-beh-!”  
“Please, just teach the lesson!”  
Without another word, the silver-haired teacher marched down the corridor and out of sight.  
“Ah, old Majors there - still thinks he’s in the army!”  
All of the students nervously tittered.  
“Right, where was I? Elections, yes. Let's do... proportional representation while I tell you about the Tory Dutch Buffet of '01!" Mr Fawcett announced, twisting the gold ring on his finger while fumbling around with a box of textbooks.  
As he said this, Mike leaned over to Alison. "Trust me," he whispered, "You do not want to know what a Dutch Buffet is!"  
________________

Sporting a rather severe thousand-yard-stare, Alison slipped out of the classroom with Mike into the busy corridor, everyone else racing to get to their next lesson.  
"Please tell me we have someone normal!" she asked, drawing her gaze to the timetable in her hand.  
"You're in luck!" Mike announced, smiling at her kindly. "We have PSHE next, Mr Scout. Actually, we seem to have most of our lessons together," he noted.  
"Thank god. To Room 32!"

________________

Unlike most of the classrooms at Button Academy, the desks in Room 32 weren't set up into rigid rows. Instead, they were arranged into small tables of six. Several vibrant posters and flags adorned the room.  
"This looks normal. Pleasant even!" Alison observed, taking in her surroundings.  
"Yep! Mr Scout is the closest you'll get to a regular teacher, trust me," Mike told her, sitting in a seat at a table at the back of the room. Miss Morte followed him, electing to sit in the adjacent. Slowly, but surely, more people began to fill the room, a stocky, warm-looking man closing the door behind him as he entered the room.  
"Right, good morning everyone!" the man greeted everyone enthusiastically. "My name's Mr. Scout, I'm the school's resident guidance counsellor and PSHE teacher!" As he turned to write something on the whiteboard, Alison noticed a scar on his neck - she decided not to question it.  
Mr. Scout nattered on at the front of the class, smiling all the while at his students - Alison found it quite infectious.  
Mike lent over to her.  
"Told you that you would like him!"  
Mr Scout turned back to his class, grinning. "Today's PSHE lesson will be about safety while driving!"  
Alison's face paled; this was a ...touchy subject at the best of times.  
"Can anyone give me any tips for safe driving?" the teacher enquired, taking various answers from across the classroom. "How about you, Alison? Any advice for driving safely?"  
Alison drew her eyes towards him, looking at him apathetically. "Pay attention to the road sides, and never drive tired or drunk. You never, never know what your actions may cost someone or yourself..." Just saying those few words sucked any sense of happiness from her.  
Mr Scout's expression morphed from one of elation to one of pity, even sorrow. "Yes, thank you for sharing, Alison," he replied, giving her a slight smile before moving on to the next person.  
For the rest of the lesson, Alison was just going through the necessary actions on auto-pilot, devoid of any emotion.

___________________________________

As students filed out into the corridor, glad for the break from lessons, Mr Scout approached Miss Morte's table as she picked up her bag.  
"If you don't mind, Alison, may I have a word please?"  
Motioning Mike to go without her, she then nodded at her teacher.  
"Were you," he started, his voice laced with concern. "Were you... okay today, Alison? You seemed very distant."  
He looked earnestly at her. Alison sighed.  
"If I'm being completely honest, no, not really. Just... this stuff just irks me, I guess," she responded.  
"Do you mind telling me why?" the PSHE tutor asked, a pause filling the air. Eventually, Alison responded.  
"When I was really little, like three or four years old little, my parents got into a car accident. I was staying at my aunt's house while they had a date night, of sorts. Hit by a driver, asleep at the wheel on the wrong side," Alison spoke, her voice beginning to sound thick and uneven. "When they managed to get him awake so they could arrest him, they breathalysed him - said he was three times the legal limit."  
"I'm so sorry, Alison, I had no idea," Mr Scout replied, his voice  
"It's fine. I mean it's, not really fine. They were rushed to the closest hospital and were told that they would survive the night," she paused, looking into the counsellor's eyes.  
"They didn't come home," Alison uttered, her voice dying away on her tongue, tears beginning to form. As Pat looked at her, he opened his arms; Alison took the invitation for a much-needed hug.  
"Alison, I'm so sorry that you had to go through that. Please, just, tell me the next time anything makes you uncomfortable, alright?"  
Alison nodded, pulling away from the embrace, wiping her eyes.  
"If you ever need me, come and see me - I always want the best for my students!"  
Alison could do nothing but smile at this affectionate man. Suddenly, the sound of the school bell signalling the end of breaktime echoed through the halls. Alison nodded a farewell to her teacher, and with one final assurance that she's okay and that she will ensure to tell him if she's ever uncomfortable in one of his lessons again, she slipped out of the room. 

___________________________________

"Room 84 - History," Alison muttered to herself, pushing open the ivory door. Swiftly scanning the room, she soon spotted Mike at a desk near the front, suddenly taking note of the seating planning on the smartboard. Fortunately for her, she was sitting next to Mike, which was a saving grace.  
"Alright?" she asked, nodding at him, giving her eyes one final wipe.  
"Erm, yeah, you?" he responded, offering her a tissue from his coat that she ultimately refused.  
"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell you later."  
As soon as the bell erupted into a scream, indicating the start of lessons, the man wearing the olive suit entered.  
"Right, greetings everyone," he addressed the classroom with an overwhelming air of authority. He seemed to carry the weight of an army general, the dog tags clinking around his neck supporting this claim. As he took off his heavy-duty coat (clearly, he had been on yard duty), he adjusted the ivory sleeves of his shirt and his khaki waistcoat, continuing to address the class. "I am Captain Majors - you may address me by either by my full name or 'Sir', and our first unit of work of the academic year will be concerning the Second World War!"  
Everyone but Alison audibly groaned. This didn't discourage the Captain, who maintained a stiff upper lip.  
"Yes, yes, we do this unit at the beginning of every academic year, but I assure you that we will be finished with this unit by half-term!"  
With military precision, the History teacher turned around to collect both his swagger stick and a whiteboard marker from his desk. Both items were in a garish rainbow jar.  
"Before you ask," Mike quickly whispered, "he really is like this all the time!"  
___________________________________

The ring of the bell was a gift of the heavens. Rapidly, the students gushed like blood towards the canteen, hoping to get a slice of (frozen) lasagna and a serving of peas.  
"Look at them all, the riffraff, the lags - this will be chaos!" Theodore noted, peering down at everyone from the safety of the staffroom window.  
Like the students in his third period class, all of the other teachers moaned.  
"For God's sake, Theo - you say that every year!" Julian announced between bites of a cheese sandwich, marking a set of books whilst he did so.  
"How about a dramatic pause? Give it some light and shade!" Thomas gestured wildly. "At least add some zest to it!"  
Everyone muttered in agreement, Theo throwing his hands into the air. Humphrey bustled into the room, his dark circles already blacker than the night. "Afternoon all," he noted. "Aren't you all a sight for sore eyes? I have been stuck with the most mundane set of Year Eights I have ever met - refused to act at all!"  
"No need to worry, Mr Courtnay!" Kitty Aster replied, a kind smile gracing her face. "I'm positively sure that they will liven up over the year!  
Je crois en vous!"

The teachers just sighed. This was going to be a long half-term.

___________________________________

Consulting her timetable, Alison noticed that she had her first double lesson. She also had her first lesson without Mike.  
"Room 18 - Miss Baker-Swan?" the teenager asked, looking at Mike with a confused demeanour. Mike's eyes widened with that statement.  
"Good luck, mate! Miss B-S is absolutely nutty, she once told us in Home Ec to make our baskets 'five potatoes high'!" he responded. "I have Geography with Mr Pit, so I'll see you tomorrow?"  
"Yeah, yeah. See ya Mike!"  
And with that cheery farewell, they parted ways, heading towards their respective classrooms.  
___________________________________  
"Don't forgets the gizzards!" Miss Baker-Swam bellowed across the entire class, her arms flapping wildly in the air- the entire class was approaching the end of a lengthy lesson about preparing a pheasant. "Everyone forgets the gizzards, they be the Devil's work!"  
At that moment in time, Alison was up to her neck in blood and feathers. Thankfully, the ordeal was nearly over - she doesn't know how many times she must hear a word that really shouldn't be plural, or an outburst about the Devil. Alison's prayers seemed to be answered as the final bell rang.  
"Alright, everyone! Please labels your birds and we can picks up where we left off tomorrow morn! We'll put the pheasants in the fridge for cool off!"  
Rushing towards the industrial-sized fridge, Alison placed her bird in. Quickly, she washed her hands and picked up her schoolbag, intent on heading towards the staffroom, as per the strict instructions of her aunt. Waving one last 'goodbye' to Miss Baker-Swan, she left the Home Economics classroom and headed for their stairs.  
___________________________________  
Clutching her schoolbag, Alison stepped on to the landing, catching the door to the staffroom out of the corner of her eye. Briskly, she headed towards the door and pushed it open. However, Alison Morte stopped dead in her tracks - there were eight sets of eyes peering at her from the confines of the room.  
"Alison Heather Morte!" Fanny bellowed. "A lady doesn't burst in like that!"  
"Oh, hello again!" Mary greeted Alison, appearing like magic from behind her shoulder.

Alison could do nothing but stay frozen to the spot; this is a situation that she'll definitely have to get used to.


	4. The Annual September Slap-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta read, so please tell me of any spelling mistakes! Also, please tell me if there are any mistakes in the French that Kitty and Thomas speak!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

Tapping her pen against the table repeatedly, Alison was trying to absorb every scrap of knowledge tumbling out of Mr Thorne’s mouth; it wasn't working. Room 24 had been infested by every romantic motif known to man: roses were hanging from the ceiling, heart-shaped bunting hung off all of the door and window frames, and pale petals littered the floor and the tables, making writing on the desks a nightmare. And in the centre of the room, with one legged propped up on to a chair, was Mr Thorne himself, reading aloud to the class.  
"Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear, so shows a snowy dove trooping with crows-"  
The overtly-flamboyant English teacher was cut off by a knock at the door, sighing dramatically.  
"Enter, you wretched fiend!" he demanded, sulking like a child by the disruption.  
"Very sorry to interrupt you, Mr Thorne, but I do have a message from Alison Morte?"  
Mr Courtnay, the headteacher, poked his head through the door tenatively, as if he was afraid of someone lopping it off with an axe as he stood there.  
"Fine, fine, carry on, sir."  
After a moment of scanning the room, he found the young student, before proceeding to read out the message.  
"Alison, you're needed in the staff room at 3:30pm - end of the day, thank you," he recited, giving her a nod of the head and closing the door as he left.  
"Ugh, damn his eyes..." muttered Mr Thorne, before launching into his prose once again.  
______________________________

Screaming at all of the occupants of the building, the final bell of the day rang, bringing an end to that particular Monday. As she jogged up the stairs, her skirt bouncing with every step, Alison couldn't help but wonder why she was needed in the staffroom: was it for a good purpose, or a bad one?  
"Only one way to find out!" she thought, making sure to knock before she stepped in.  
A chorus of 'come in' and 'enter' seeped through the door, a sound Alison had come to know as a verbal permission to enter over the past four weeks. Twisting the doorknob, Miss Morte stepped into the room, and was immediately greeted by nine smiling (or semi-smiling faces) faces.  
"Ah, Alison, come in, sit down," Theodore stated, gesturing towards the marigold couch, currently occupied by Pat and Julian at either end. Catiously, Alison took a seat (it was slightly damp, but she decided not to pay any attention to that), which was when she noticed the dish filled with car keys on the coffee table.  
"As you mays have noticed, there be a dish of keys!" Mary commented, gesturing towards the bowl on the table. Alison simply nodded, her round eyes peering around the room before landing on Mary.  
"Now, as you may or may not be aware, Ali, every year, we teachers like to have a 'September Survival Slap-Up'!" Pat nattered on, explaining the situation to the Year 9 on the couch. "Basically, all of the teachers have a dinner party on the last Saturday of the month, which is coming up in a couple of days."  
The Captain continued the train of thought, "Each teacher takes turns, with the host, or hostess, being randomly selected by someone choosing the key for their motor car from this bowl!"  
Alison peered into the dish, her brow wrinkling. "There's only seven sets of car keys in the dish?"  
Everyone eyed each other before the Captain continued to speak. "Kitty hasn't passed her driving test yet, so her name is represented by the key to her flat, and Julian has been omitted due to the Spaghetti Rope Incident of 2016..."  
Julian simply gave a cheeky grin, whilst everyone else made vague comments or coughed nervously.  
"Okay... but how does that explain why I'm here?" Alison enquired, a confused expression still residing in her face.  
"You're the deputy head's niece, and since you are now firmly part of the school, you're bound to see us all frequently from this point onwards. Therefore, you will be included in any social functions pertaining to the teaching staff from this moment in time!" Thomas explained. "I hope someone brings wine! And figs!"  
Coughing, the Captain brought all attention on to Humphrey, the headteacher of the establishment, who was holding the dish.  
"Ah, Alison," Humphrey started. "Care to do the honours?"  
He held out the dish, everyone watching him expectantly. Closing her eyes, Alison dipped her hand into the dish, grasping one set of keys and pulling it out. The bundle of keys seemed to be hastiliy organised: the keys to a Volkswagen of some variant, a miniature metal keyring in the shape of a book, a library card, as well as several other golden keys.  
All of the teachers just looked at Thomas.  
Humphrey took one look at Thomas, "Mr Thomas James Thorne, you are the host of this year's Slap-Up!"

________________________________

"Repeat after me, class! J'aime manger du poulet, des carottes et des petits pois!" Miss Aster gleefully dictated to her class, clasping her hands in front of her. Mike, Alison and the other 19 people in their French class began to recite the sentence when Thomas burst into the room.  
"Ah, Miss Aster, avez-vous vu Marie quelque part?" Mr Thorne spoke to her in French, attempting to be cryptic.  
"Avez-vous essayé la chambre dix-huit?"  
"Oui, évidemment!"  
"Essayez la salle du personnel," she replied  
"Je vais jeter un oeil - merci!" he responded, slipping out of Room 19 into the hall.  
Kitty giggled, and grinned at her class. "Mr Thorne was just looking for Miss Baker-Swan - probably wanted to pop round her house tonight for a bottle of red, lovely!"  
Snickering, the students just looked at each other; they were so thankful that Miss Aster was an atrocious secret-keeper.

________________________________

"I'm comings, I'm comings!" Mary shouted from the upstairs window of her house before bounding down the stairs. Thomas had popped round her house for a bottle of red wine, as she seems to have an abundance of it. Swiftly, the front door opened, revealing the Home Economics teacher in an amber blouse and navy jeans - the English teacher on her doorstep had also changed into something more comfortable.  
"Come for that bottle of red, have you?"  
"Precisely," Mr Thorne replied, giving her a polite smile.  
"I'll gets it! Georgia boughts another bottle yesterday, we alreadys had two in!" Mary chuckled before bounding into the house, waving Thomas in as she did so. Stepping out of his shoes at the front door, Thomas mentally thanked Mary's partner for the wine. Thomas sniffed. Then, he inhaled more deeply.  
"Mary, I think you've burnt the sausages!"  
"Oh dears, nevermind! Georgia won't minds soup!"  
Handing him the glass bottle, Thomas twirled it around in his hands, observing it.  
"Thank you very much, Mary - give my thanks to Georgia when she returns from work! Oh, and please ask her to book me an appointment with her, I think it's been six months!"  
"Wills do, but she be working late tonights! Mr Dunker has a cavity, apparentlys."  
"Great, thank you Mary! I'll see you tomorrow!"  
Placing the bottle into the satchel around his waist, Thomas bid Mary farewell, and headed home; he had twenty-four hours to figure out how to cook a salmon and vegetable soup.

___________________________________________

"Right, auntie," Alison started, staring into her wardrobe with Fanny leering over her niece's shoulder. "What do you lot normally wear to this... dinner-party-thing?"  
"I normally wear that pewter dress, the one I store in a polythene bag at the back of the wardrobe! You need to wear something like that, young lady: dignified, yet casual," responded Fanny, scanning the wardrobe. After a minute or so of searching, Fanny reached over Alison's shoulder, pulling a plum-coloured blouse (long-sleeved, with ruffles running down them) and a black pencil skirt.  
"This is what I shall deem appropriate. Now, hurry along and get ready!" Fanny replied firmly, an affectionate tone underlying it. As she went to step out of Alison's room, she suddenly turned on her heels, quickly returning.  
"And remember, if you must wear makeup-" Fanny started. However, she was cut off by Alison.  
"Ladies pinch, whores use rogue!" she completed the sentence from memory, as if it had been drilled into her many a time over the last 10 years under her aunt's wing. Smiling to herself, Alison shut the door and changed for the 'September Survival Slap-Up'.

______________________________

Thomas had just enough time to turn down the heat on the grill and change into a more formal shirt before he heard the doorbell ring. Hastily, he brushed himself down and raced down the hall, opening the door to be greeted by a grinning Pat, his attire consisting of a widly-patterned dress shirt and faded jeans.  
"Ah, Pat, come on in! Welcome, there's figs and wine waiting in the front room!" he addressed him, guiding the man towards the living room.  
Pouring in like torrential rain, more and more people began to show up: Pat, of course, was the first to arrive, followed in quick succession by Julian, Kitty, Humphrey, Robin, Theodore, Mary and, last but not least, Fanny and Alison.  
Slipping her shoes off at the front door (Alison had been reliably informed by several members of staff that the English teacher despised people wearing shoes indoors, so she left the shoes by the door along with all of the others), the deputy's niece took in the decor. It was relatively ornate. However, it clearly had both modern influences and... was that Regency furniture as well?  
Alison couldn't exactly place which era the furniture had come from, but she liked it nevertheless.  
"This is going to be an interesting evening!"

______________________________

To say that this was a bizarre environment was clearly an understatement. Alison was propped on the edge of the sofa, observing her teachers in the wild. Julian seemed to be a lightweight in regards to booze, and will probably end up with a horrendous headache tomorrow, Mary and Kitty were having a frantic debate about... chicken? Alison wasn't sure, and out of the corner of her eye, the remainder of the staff were playing an elaborate game of charades. Theodore was miming frantically, and the rest of the staff were trying their best to guess his film.  
"War Horse!"  
"Dunkirk!"  
"Bill!"  
Everyone stopped and looked at Robin.  
"Bill?" enquired the Captain, sliding his hands into his dress trousers.  
"Yeah, Bill. Shakespeare comedy!"  
"Oh, he's finally lost it, this is asinine!" Fanny declared.  
This conversation, however, was abruptly ended, by the smoke alarm going off.  
"Oh, bugger!" Thomas' voice rang out across the house. The rest of the teachers became a herd of wildebeest, racing towards the kitchen.  
"Everything alright, Thorne?" Theodore enquired, the rest of the staff muttering with the same sense of concern behind him.  
"Oh no, it's fine!" Thomas replied, running his hands through his curls. Everyone began to leave the room. "Except it's not, because I have reduced the salmon to cinders and the soup has turned to an inedible mush!" he finished, rambling.  
Everyone looked at each other, and then back at the English teacher, who was wildly stirring the pot on the hob.  
Alison looked at all of the adults.  
"Want some help, Thomas?"

________________________________

"You chop this, Fanny, whilst I boil some water!"  
"What shall me do?"  
"Now, Robin, you can..."  
"You can grate some cheese for the bread!"  
"Excellent idea, Thorne! Grater is on the island, Robin!"  
"Sh-sh-should I do some-something, guys?"  
"No, no, Julian - you goes and sits down-"  
"And put your trousers back on, Fawcett! You are an utter disgrace to my kitchen!" 

It was all hands-on-deck in the Thorne kitchen, with every teacher (bar Julian, who had now progressed past the point of tipsiness into the realm of drunkard stupidity) and Alison Morte helping to produce that year's meal. Chopping, slicing, boiling, grilling, grating (which had turned into a dire need for a blue plaster on a certain Science teacher); it was a hive of activity, and the teachers were the bees. Thomas' kitchen had never been so busy!  
___________________________________

"Thank you, so much, everyone!" Thomas Thorne addressed everyone, his expressive face morphing into one of complete joy - a rare sight on his face. Due to the sheer amount of help on his side (and a glass or two of wine), the dinner had morphed into an outstanding success, complete with clear plates. Now, since coffee had been doled out and dessert had been devoured (cherry pie, Thomas' favourite), everyone was bidding Thomas goodbye, preparing themselves to return home to children, wives, husbands and various other family members. Thankfully, for all parties involved, Humphrey had decided that it would be a sensible idea to bring Julian home with him, as Margot had gone to Oxford for the weekend on 'business'.

As they were about to slip out of the door, Miss Morte turned towards the man she had grown to know as her English teacher.  
"You were great, tonight, Mr Thorne," commented Alison, smiling, her hands fiddling behind her back.  
"Please, call me Thomas when we're not at the Academy, Miss Morte. I truly can not begin to visualise what would have happened if not for your brilliant suggestion!" returned Thomas, grinning politely at his student. "I believe that Fanny is waiting for you - eager to go home, I imagine. I shall see you on Monday, with your essay about Romeo's naivety, I hope!" he added, waving her off. Looking over her shoulder, Alison gave one final farewell to Thomas, who gave her a friendly wave before shutting the door.

Opening the door to the ancient 1930s Bentley, Alison slid in, and sighed. Chugging down the road towards their home, Alison replayed the events of the night repeatedly.  
"Auntie?"  
"Yes, Alison?"  
"Are the teachers really like that, like, all the time?"  
Fanny merely looked at her niece, her eyes filled with a concoction of contentment and exhaustion.  
"Yes, they are really like that all of the time."  
"Would you change it for the world?"  
Fanny paused.  
"Of course not- we were thrown together, but we stick together," the Maths teacher gazed at her niece. "Like family."


	5. Halloween Blazers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this thus far! It is very much appreciated, as are any kudos or comments you send my way! This hasn't been beta read, so please alert me of any spelling errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

October had dawned upon Button Academy. Auburn leaves had fluttered to the ground, the darkness of dusk was now beginning to arrive at four o' clock and Halloween costumes had already began to haunt the shelves of ASDA. On this rather chilly Thursday morning, the school hall (a former ballroom) was steadily being filled by around two hundred Year Nine students. Once everyone had filed in and the noise had disappeared, Mr Courtnay addressed the room.  
"Good morning, Year 9, we just have a few announcements for this morning," he began, adjusting his posture slightly so he stood up straighter. "First of all, the printer on the ground floor in the east wing is broken, so please send all printing work to the office. Second, any students in Mr Moonah's Science class, due to an incident in Room 58, you will all be in Room 92 for the next fortnight. Finally, and most important, consent forms will be coming around during Lesson 5, as you will all be visiting the Byron Institute for a series of film-making workshops."  
As soon as the words had left his lips, the entire room broke out into an intermingled chorus of groans and cheers. Alison looked around in confusion.  
"That is all, thank you Year Nine," concluded the headteacher, dismissing the year group.  
"Mike," Alison asked, looking at her friend as they picked up their belongings from under their seats. "What's the big deal about the Byron Institute?"  
Mike scoffed a little, but tried his best to hide it.  
"Right, well. The Byron Institute is this grand school about half an hour away. Posh place, full of snobs, they're our biggest competition in everything!"  
"Everything?"  
"Everything!" he continued, as they began to head towards Room 9, as they had a Music lesson with Miss Aster.  
"You always know if someone goes to that school! They wear these horrendous striped blazers - orange, black and white. They look like a Halloween barbershop's quartet! Also, Mr Nightingale, their head, seems to be an enemy to Mr Thorne, no one knows why."  
Alison simply nodded along to every sentence Mike said. "Anywho, the workshops are usually fun, but the kids are gits, and that's putting it lightly!"  
Silently remembering this, the pair turned the corner and entered the classroom, where a sea of violins greeted them. Both sighed - this was going to be a painful lesson.

______________________________________________

"This is a heinous crime! A pox should be cast on all of them!" announced Thomas, who had spread himself across the battered sofa, forcing Alison and Robin on to the arm rests whilst Julian had decided to prop himself on the floor.  
"Thorne, you're being absurd- Katherine, put those down, we don't want to lose them!" Theodore was cut off from his train of his thought by Kitty fiddling with the consent forms, which she immediately dropped, like a child being caught stealing sweets.  
"As I was saying," the silver-haired man continued. "Both students and teachers alike need to be on their best behaviour today - as we all know, the Byron Institute is a highly-prestigious establishment! No tomfoolery will be tolerated!"  
He eyed Thomas, still sulking on the couch, warily.  
Everyone was drawn out their conversations by Humphrey poked his head through the door.  
"Come along, you five. The bus is waiting!"  
______________________________________________

They had been on the blasted bus for five minutes, and Alison already wanted to claw her eyes out. Thankfully, she sat next to Mike, which made the journey slightly more tolerable, but the chaotic atmosphere of people chucking stuff from the back of the bus, an idiot playing repetitive rap music from a speaker they had smuggled in and the teachers deciding that they wanted a piece of the action had now all converged into a tornado of noise.  
"Mr Thorne, stop sulking!"  
"But that blasted Nightingale, with his coiled hair and mocking eyes will be there, taunting us! I can not, and will not bear it!"  
"Oh, don't worry, Thomas! I'm sure that he doesn't mind you that much! He does seem like a charming fellow!"  
"Nonsense, Kitty, utter poppycock! It's like the local elections of '89. Thought the opposition had something to offer, but the only thing they had to offer was-"  
"NO FINISH JULIAN!"

Knocking her head back, Miss Morte groaned. There was only one word to describe this situation: atrocious.

______________________________________________

Intricate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating every corner of the room. Decorating the room, bunting in the school's colours adorned the walls. Marble and limestone pillars lined the room. In short, the place looked like a-  
"Flipping palace!" Alison couldn't help but gawk. It was a marvellous sight to see - a school that didn't have crumbling brickwork or grubby bathrooms!  
"Yeah, I know! It's grand, but don't let Mr Thorne know that you said that!" Mike replied, taking in the scenery, passing a gaggle of students in those awful striped blazers. They sniggered as the two schools passed.  
"Don't mind them."

Gradually, the auditorium of the Byron Institute was filled by the ivory shirts and carmine pull-overs of the students of Button Academy. Once everyone had occupied a seat, a man in a powder-blue blazer and tan dress-trousers entered the stage.  
"Welcome, Year Nine! Welcome, one and all!" The male's voice was as smooth as butter.  
"God, spare me- ow!" muttered Thomas, promptly receiving a slap from Robin and Julian from either side, as well as a side-eye from Humphrey, Kitty and Theodore.  
"I am Mr Nightingale, and it is my pleasure, as the principal, to welcome you all to the Byron Institute for this series of film production workshops. We will be covering acting, writing and directing today; don't fret, each group will have a turn!"  
All of the Button Academy students mumbled excitedly to each other. Mr Nighingale clapped his hands together, drawing all eyes on to him.  
"May the workshops commence!"

______________________________________________

After being divided into six groups, each concise flock of students took time to go around all of the workshops. Captain Majors' group, consisting of around 30 people in each group (including Alison and Mike), had just completed a rather interesting writing workshop with a Mrs Verbis. Two hours didn't seem to be enough time.  
"Who knew that script-writing could be so interesting?" Alison exclaimed, walking in step with both her group leader and her companion.  
"Yes, quite," the Captain coughed, fiddling with his fingers behind his back. "However, I always enjoy this workshop when we come here?"  
"Which one is this?"  
"Directing."

______________________________________________  
Trailing around the room like a rope, all of the Captain's group were waiting patiently for the arrival of the leader of this particular workshop. Just as they heard footsteps approaching, Mike quickly leaned over to his female friend.  
"Hey, watch Majors' face light up here!"  
He didn't have to say it twice. As soon as the words had died and faded into the air, a fairly young man with curled, dirty-blond hair, stepped into the room. For some unknown reason, the Captain's face seemed to be washed over by a faint sense of glee.  
"Are they close friends or something?"  
"Not a clue, Ali, not a clue."

A rather sophisticated Glaswegian tone filled the room.  
"Welcome, Button Academy, to this directing workshop. My name is Mr Adam Amett, I am the Media Studies teacher here at Byron, and today, I am hoping to show you some tricks of directing a film or television shoot."  
He gestured everyone towards a small camera set-up in the centre of the room.  
"Now, I have a good deal of experience in this field because I was a fully-qualified assistant director for several years before I took up teaching, so I'm sure that I know a wee thing or two." Mr Amett chuckled to himself.  
"Now," he addressed the group, patting a small box housing a screen. "This screen is used for playback. Whatever is recorded sound-wise and video-wise can be immediately viewed on here. A couple of volunteers?"  
Several students shot their hands up, a few students being selected by the Glaswegian.  
"Just interact with each other, just perform a little scene!"  
The three students had a brief discussion before giving him a thumbs-up.  
"Great. Lights, camera, action!"

Both teachers and students alike watched in awe, hanging on every word Mr Amett spoke. Eventually, all of the students were divided into small groups of 6, all of them harnessing the tricks and tips about stage and film production that they were taught. Lights were adjusted, directions were given, camera angles changed. Even Captain Majors was getting involved.

"These scenes are looking great, guys!" Mr Amett commented, gesturing towards Alison and Mike's troupe. As he pointed to them, the key light in the corner reflected a ray off of the teacher's wedding band.  
"This is rather fun, I thought you said that this place was really snotty?" Alison enquired, mustering up all of her strength to raise the boom mic above her head.  
"The other kids are, like the ones we saw at lunch, when we all had to eat the 'Chef's Chicken Curry',” Mike responded, his gaze flicking between the playback screen and the Captain. Alison shrugged at this.  
"Majors looks happy, doesn't he?"  
Mike peered above the screen. "He does, that's unusual," Mike chuckled and looked at Alison. "I bet he doesn't want this session to end!"

Turning her face to look at him, Alison noticed that Mr Amett and Captain Majors seemed to be spending a lot of time around each other, chatting and beaming coyly at each other. They seemed rather close to each other.  
"I think they must be really, really close friends!"  
Mike nodded in agreement, before drawing his attention back to the other members of the group. It seemed like no-one wanted this session to end!

______________________________________________

About four hours and one Hamlet-induced black eye (the poor drama teacher had apologised profusely to Alison, but that didn't make it hurt less!) later, all of the Button Academy students had been herded up and trundled back on to the bus, bound towards their school. Despite a bit of jeering from some of the Byron kids and a rather awkward stand-off between Thorne and Nightingale, the trip had gone off without a hitch, much to the relief of the staff.

"Didn't know you were an esteemed director, Robin," Humphrey noted, bouncing in unison with the bus.  
"Hey! Me direct good!" he responded, smoothing down his deep beige jumper.  
"Well!" Thomas corrected the Science teacher. "Me direct well! I!"  
"I found the entire experience rather enjoyable - I can see why you like writing so much, Tom!"  
"Thank you, Kitty, I'm glad that you found joy in one of my greatest passions! May I-"  
"NO!" bellowed all of the teachers, silencing the English teacher before he launched into his prose again.  
"Well, I agree with Katherine," started Theodore, his hands switching between resting in his lap and adjusting his dog tags. "Personally, I found the directing workshop particularly pleasurable."  
"You know, Theo," Julian started, turning around in his scratchy bus seat to look at the History teacher. "You either need to get better at hiding your affection for Byron's resident director, or you need to tell them before they catch you two at the French Picnic Basket!"  
A collective groan erupted from everyone but Captain, gazing blissfully out of the window.  
"Maybe," he started, before drawing his line of sight away from the window, his expression becoming more dry. "Maybe one day, but it shan't be for a long time."  
He paused. There was a reason he kept his personal life in the dark... Perhaps it was time to allow the light in.


	6. A Little Bit of Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta read, so please notify me of any errors you encounter!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

Fiddling with his keys, Theodore unlocked his front door and pushed it open, stepping into his humble home. Quickly unlacing his shoes, the History teacher placed them by the door and hung up his greatcoat, before calling up the stairs for his spouse.  
“Adam, I'm home!” he hollered, placing a hand on the birch-wood banister. After a brief moment, Adam Amett, with his ringleted hair and steely blue irises, came padding down the stairs. Suppressing their smiles when they saw each other was impossible.  
”Hello, Teddy,” the Media Studies greeted him, his Glaswegian voice sounding down the corridor. “Had a good day at work?”  
“Yes, yes, it was all perfectly adequate. Naturally, it wasn't as riveting as the visit to Byron we had several weeks ago, but it sufficed,” he replied fondly, giving his husband a peck on the cheek once he reached the bottom. “Do you care for a cup of tea?”  
“Yes, of course, tea would be lovely!” Adam responded, following Theodore into the kitchen.  
The streetlights outside had already awoken for the night, casting the outside world with a warm glow. A similar warm glow was present in the Amett-Majors household, with a single floor lamp in the living room illuminating their home. The kettle bubbled away in the corner.  
“So, my darling,” Theodore spoke as he lifted two mugs from a cupboard. “Any interesting events today at Byron?”  
“Surprisingly, yes!” Adam responded, chuckling. “Old Nightingale had a paddy over a Year 8’s shoes - decided they weren't polished enough! Poor lass, looked like she was near tears. Then, she turns around, and whips an up-to-scratch pair from a bag! Had better crocodile tears than most of the actors I've worked with!”  
The Captain couldn't help but find great amusement in the story; the Byron Institute’s principal was notorious for flying into a rage over the silliest of things, much to the humour of everyone.  
“What about you?”  
“Hmm?”  
“No anecdotes from Button Academy?”  
Theodore released a hefty sigh.  
“Well, my darling boy, it wouldn't be Button Academy without some bizarre event happening under our noses! Robin managed to melt a hole in his desk again, just as Fanny walked in to ask for some spare pens; you can imagine the reaction that garnered!”  
“Oh, I can see it now! Eyebrows raised, forehead crinkled, mouth blown open?” Adam asked cheekily.  
“Naturally! Then at lunchtime, Thomas had the nerve to take all of our lunches and mobile phones away just so we could listen to him read aloud a love letter. I’ve never seen Patrick so angry!”  
The whistling of the kettle interrupted his train of thought. Thankfully, he quickly found it again.  
“Then, of course, we had a sixth-former kick a football through the window, into Room 79, giving Humphrey a bruise he won't forget in a hurry!”  
Once he had placed a tea-bag into each cup (PG tips for both men), Adam spun around, leaning on the counter with laughter shining his eyes.  
“So, usual day?” he asked jokingly.  
“Usual day!” The Captain replied, raising himself from the leather dining table seat to the counter. He quietly stirred his tea, humming to himself as he did so.  
“Two or three sugars today, Teddy?” emerged a muffled voice from inside the cupboard.  
“Just the two, please,” Theodore responded, pouring some milk into each cup. The lid was quickly replaced. The bottle swiftly returned to the fridge.  
Adam and Theodore grinned at each other whilst bustling around the kitchen. Both men led hectic lives, with hectic careers being at the centre of them, so coming home and doing little-to-nothing was quite appeasing. Just relaxing, doing nothing but enjoying the comfort of each other's company.  
“Living room?” Adam enquired as he picked up the two mugs.  
“Living room,” Theodore grinned, taking his olive mug into his hands and heading towards the sofa. As he sat down, he felt the adjoining seat sink down and a warm body press against his side. Instinctively, he rested his arm across Adam’s shoulders. The soft sound of slurping filled the room.  
“So,” Theodore started, drumming his fingers against the ceramic. Adam peered up at him, “So, Teddy.”  
“I was thinking, some time in the coming weeks, I might rearrange my battle tactics regarding... us,” he finished cautiously, as if he were afraid of the words. Confusion graced every feature of Adam.  
“Teddy, you'll have to explain?”  
Normally, the Captain knew what to say - he would be a fairly incompetent authority figure if he was unable to express his thoughts clearly. Despite this, at that moment in time, he was lost for words.  
“Well, several other faculty members had picked up on our sense of euphoria around each other when we visited your barracks at Byron,” the Captain explained, stopping between words to drink his tea. “And both I and them were concerned that I was becoming... careless.”  
Adam gave a slight chuckle.  
“Teddy, you couldn't be more careful if you tried!” he replied, pulling the chain to his husband’s dog tags from under his shirt. The wedding band that hung off it was simple in design: a ring of white gold, complete with obsidian borders running around it.  
“I mean, I'm pretty sure the students don't even know you're married! Let alone to me,” he exclaimed, placing his head on Theodore’s shoulder. “If it we're up to you, the teachers themselves wouldn't be any the wiser!”  
“Emergency contacts were necessary, so was a little explaining,” Theo replied, gazing down at him. Traces of amber light reflected off the both of them, highlighting them and highlighting the hands of the clock in the corner. It was 10 o’clock now. It was a Friday- Adam had the community film club the next day.  
By this point, the tea had been drunk, leaving Teddy and Adam snuggled up together on the couch. Adam shifted slightly to look at the clock.  
“Ten o’clock. Come on, let's put these in the sink and head up to bed, I'm knackered. Unless you want to talk about ‘battle tactics' some more?” the Glaswegian asked as he stood on the pale cream carpet. The Captain contemplated this for a moment.  
“Let's retire for the night, this is an issue to resolve later. It might not even be that big of an issue, as like you said, no student is any the wiser!”  
And with that, the cups were cleared away and the lights were switched off, Adam and Theodore padding upstairs to slip into a blissful sleep.  
___________________

Alison Morte collapsed with relief into the back of her chair: she had finished every last, itty-bitty, tiny, annoying piece of homework. Mr Thorne’s English assignment seemingly took an eon. Raising herself up from the chair, Alison suddenly heard her aunt call out for her.  
“ALISON” the elder woman’s voice rocketed down the corridor, causing Miss Morte to scramble to her feet.  
“I'm coming, I'm coming!” she responded, rapidly racing down the corridor. When she reached the living room, she was greeted by Fanny wielding a sizeable beige box filled with… pictures?  
“ I found these, they were in the attic, and I believe that these will be far more entertaining than that phone you insist on having glued to your hand!” declared Fanny, setting the box down with a thump on the coffee table. Sweeping around the back of the couch, the Maths teacher looped back around into the kitchen, calling “Don’t damage them, and put them back once you're done!” as she left. “Don’t forget that you have that film club to attend today!”  
Flipping the lid off, Alison peered into the box. Piles of photographs and photo albums towered over the top of each other, as if the piles were racing to the top. Digging through the box, Alison pulled out a couple, tracing the smiling faces on them. There were photos of her as a dinky child, photos of Fanny in various stages of both her life and her teaching career, even some drunkard shots from September Slap-Ups gone by.  
Traces of light bounced off of the film of the photos. So many memories captured, but rarely seen. Blowing the dust off a small pile of photos, Alison quickly realised that each photo was of Fanny’s form tutors- each form had seven different photos. Rapidly organising them into piles of seven and counting them, the total came up to four different form tutors, twenty-eight years of teaching and just one school. Miss Morte found it almost unbelievable that her aunt had taught at the same school for nearly double the time that she had been alive. Alison released a hefty sigh as she thought that.  
For the next hour or so, Alison practically became a mole, digging through the battered box. As she pushes some albums aside, intending to look at them later, her fingers brushed against an ivory and emerald album, edged with gold. This particular item confused Alison: her aunt was divorced, and immediately disposed of any memorabilia related to her wedding, her own parents never got the opportunity to wed, and there were no other relatives of significance.  
“Who could this possibly belong to?” Alison pondered aloud, preparing to lift the dust-coated book out of the box. However, she was interrupted by Fanny striding into the room.  
“Alison, you are due to leave in five minutes, and a lady must never be late!” she stated firmly, standing in the doorway. “No matter how futile it seems to me, if you insist on signing up for this ‘film club’, the least you can do is arrive on time!”  
Studying the container for a moment, Alison sighed and raised herself to her feet- she will look at that album later.  
It was too mysterious and out-of-place to be ignored...  
__________________________

The local film club had been a recent endeavour of Alison, as the cinema had long been a past-time of the teenager. Now, at long last, she had other people to talk about it with. Stepping into the relatively cramped room, Alison sat down in one of the aged, matted chairs, the coarse velvet rubbing against her arms. A large tarp was draped from the back wall, a plastic projector resting and grumbling away on a table on the other side of the room. Several other people occupied the room: some older, some younger, some around the same age as Alison. All of them waited for the group's leader.  
"Good afternoon, everyone," the Glaswegian trill of Adam Amett filled the room. Before joining the film club, Alison had been aware of the fact that the Media Studies teacher of the Byron Institute ran a community group of some kind, but she didn't realise it was Adam Amett until she had attended her first session. Now, she was rather familiar with Mr Amett in a professional capacity. However, she couldn't help but feel like she recognised him from somewhere. Somewhere that wasn't the film club or school. As the projector roared into life, Alison had to settle for solving that mystery later.

___________________

Alison released a sigh of relief when she returned home- the photograph box had still been left on the table, accompanied by a note. Meandering over to the table, Alison lifted up the little card, off-white in colour and written in the hand of a strict, up-tight Maths teacher.  
"Kitty's bills are due. I will return once I've assisted her," Alison read aloud, flipping the note over in case there was anything etched on the back. There wasn't, so the note was returned to its original place. As she sat cross-legged on the mahogany carpet, Alison mustered all of her strength up to drag the box closer to her. Once again, she delved into the box, her hands shifting and rearranging an endless stream of albums until she found the right one. It was a relatively new-ish album. The outer casing was of ivory-tinted leather, engraved with dozens of intricate leaves, their outlines carved out in a metallic sage. A gleaming border of gold patterned the edge of the book, and there was a date engraved into the bottom: the 6th of December, 2008. Why did Alison recognise that date?  
Curiosity engulfed her. Carefully, she flipped open the front cover of the book, turning a couple of pages until she reached the first set of photos. Some were captured in monochrome, others in colour. There were several shots of wedding guests she recognised: her aunt, Mr Courtnay, Mr Scout (who was sporting a bleach-blond mullet), a few teachers from Byron that she had seen in passing. There was even a photograph of herself. The delicate auburn hair and her stature suggested that she was around three or four. Soft, chubby hands were clutching a basket filled with crimson and snowy petals, the olive trim of her flower girl (Alison assumed that she was a flower girl) dress brushing her knees. Alison continued to flip through the photographs, until she reached one that made her Bambi-like eyes widen in surprised.  
This particular photo was taken moments after the ceremony had ended, but before the reception began. Dressed in a smooth black tuxedo, a poppy boutonniere attached to the lapel of the blazer, stood Captain Majors. His temples were just beginning to fade into grey, very much unlike his salt-and-pepper toned colour that Alison had come to know, and his expression seemed to glow with euphoria and unadulterated bliss as he gazed into the eyes of... Mr Adam Amett. The flaxen curls of one intermingled with the dark umber strands of another, their hands propped on each others' shoulders.  
Alison's eyes bore into the photo, taking in every detail. As quiet as a mouse, Alison uttered, "I remember this... I remember this photo! I remember this day!" Her young age had led to this rather significant day fading into her subconsciousness. Despite this, she felt windswept, as if the entire room around her had rapidly rushed away and placed her back in the scenery of that winter day.

___________________

 _The camera wasn't there. The camera wasn't there in Adam and Theodore's minds. Neither was the hundred or so guests, nor the chilly December air, nor the distant hum of the violin of the hall. It was just them, their hands clasped together, their eyes and hearts looking into one another._  
_"Just a shot looking towards me, please, gentlemen!" hollered the photographer, smiling from behind the camera. The click of the shutter rang out across the garden as the two men complied with their instructions. Although it was December, the greenery still appeared lush, the flowers still seemed to bloom with vibrance. In short, everything seemed to glow with radiance._  
_"One with the flower girl, please!"_  
_For the occasion, Fanny had her muted blonde hair spread across her shoulders, the fabric of a green wrap-dress waltzing around her ankles. Picking up Alison, she cautiously passed her over to Theo._  
_"Remember to smile, Alison Heather!" the middle-aged woman reminded her niece, who stared up at her with wide eyes, the petal-filled basket still clutched in one hand. As Fanny returned to her place with Humphrey, Pat, Robin and Julian, all of them sporting formal attire in various shades of olive or sable, she observed the stance of the History teacher and his civil partner. Typically, Fanny wasn't one for smiling, as she claimed that it wasn't a good look on her. However, just for Theo's special day. she allowed a slight one to slip out._  
_"Ready everyone?" enquired the photographer, peering over the top of his equipment. Once everyone had nodded in affirmation, he ducked behind his camera._  
_"Smile!"_  
___________________

"Smile!"  
Such a simple word, but it was one that brought back everything. Tracing her fingers across the pages, Alison peered down at the one of her, Captain Majors (Captain Amett? Captain Amett-Majors?) and Mr Amett, all of them grinning widely at the camera. How could she forget a day such as this?  
Flipping through the pages of images, the unspoken level of joy in them never fluctuated, never dipped. Everyone, from Mr Fawcett to the parents of the couple, echoed and affirmed the exhilaration of the day. Just as she went to place the album back into the box, a photocopied version of a certificate fell out. As she lifted it off the carpet and returned it into the album, her irises traced the words.  
It was a marriage certificate, the date of their original civil partnership printed on it. A day brimming with sentiment she never expected from her History teacher.

___________________

"Yes, yes, don't worry, I will make note of that! No need for concern, I can easily retrieve it at the end of the day!"  
Unbeknownst to Theodore, three Year Eleven boys had decided to eavesdrop on the teacher's conversation through the staffroom door. Mentally, they gave thanks to the thin, creaking doors, never truly free from the clutches of woodworm.  
"Who's 'e talkin' to?" whispered one of the boys hoarsely, a twisted expression of hatred, amusement and bewilderment contorted his features.  
"I have no clue!" responded another boy, taller and rougher than his accomplice. The gaggle of youths quickly hushed each other when they heard the Captain start talking again.  
"My lunch break is almost over too, as is yours, but I shall speak to you tonight," he continued. "Goodbye Adam."  
"Must be a mate!" retorted another teenager, his blond hair teeming and dripping with grease.  
"Yes, my darling boy, I love you too. Farewell!"  
Confusion cowered away from the boys' expressions, pure, unadulterated fury dominating their expressions. Ineffable hatred.  
"Oh, that Captain is in for it, he is in for it!" retorted one of the males, his face snarling as he stormed away from the door.  
"I'm going to make him pay for being a bloody-!"

_______________________  
Theodore couldn't stop hearing it.  
He couldn't stop... hearing it. The phrase, the hatred, the bite of it. The condescending scoff of those three lads. It started about a fortnight ago. At first, it was just side-eyes, jeering looks, a whispered rumour. Then it turned into whispered words, which gradually grew in volume until they were loud enough to shake the walls of his classroom; he thought it would stop at that. Oh, how he was mistaken. Those three troublesome teenagers barged into his room on Friday, after hours, fire ablaze in their eyes. It became an endless tirade of abuse, of punches, of kicks, of spat out words.  
Gingerly, he rubbed his left hand, currently bound in bandages, small cuts peppering his face... At least his students couldn't see the bruise, a whirlpool of hideous green and purple running up his torso.  
He couldn't express his gratitude towards Julian enough, who heard the commotion and had enough sense and guts to barge in, catch the cretins red-handed. Those three boys had now been spoken to, expelled, ejected from the school in disgrace by Mr Courtnay, a man usually mild-mannered who erupted like a vicious volcano due to the incident.  
Everyone now knew. A secret he had kept under wraps, pushed under the rug, concealed across three schools and fifteen years. It stung more than the first time this had occurred, left behind many years ago in another school, in a less understanding time. Now everyone knew: Mr Majors' was gay.  
He had, naturally, kept an authoritarian stance, a stiff upper-lip, during the entire ordeal, only for him to crumble into dust and tears once he reached the sanctuary of Adam and their residence. Now, it was Sunday, and here he was, laying in bed, nursing his broken wrist and dreading his return to the school.  
He felt a weight sink into the mattress, swiftly followed by a tender kiss to the cheek.  
"I could ask if you could stay off tomorrow, you know, if you want to, Teddy," Adam spoke in a hushed, loving tone. The ordeal was horrific, but he remained by his captain's side.  
"No, no, that shan't be necessary," whispered Theodore. The past couple of weeks had knocked a lot out of him, reducing his usual tone to no more than a murmur. "I have to return, I need to resume command and face the troops eventually."  
Despite what his gut was telling him, Adam knew that Theodore wouldn't want to be absent, raise more questions than necessary. Instead of arguing with him, he gave a warm smile to him. Theo layed his head upon his spouse's shoulder, hugging him closer.  
"I need to, I need to," the Captain spoke, his tone breaking with every word. He wept into Adam's shoulder silently.  
"It's okay, Teddy, it'll get better. Don't know when, don't know how, but it will get better," whispered Adam, his Glaswegian tone breaking through the silence. "I promise, dear."  
_______________________  
Dragging. That's what the Captain felt like he was doing. He felt like his footsteps were dragging behind him. With a hefty sigh, he clambered up the stairs of Button Academy, his uninjured hand reaching out to grasp the door handle. If it were up to him, he would have retreated back to his classroom, but he decided that he should at least make his face known to the staffroom. However, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that was to greet him.

Vibrant colour shone into his eyes as he stepped into the usually-dull staffroom. Rainbow bunting hung from the coving of the room, the array of hues contrasting the ivory of the walls. Every member of staff, in addition to Alison, were sat in one of the numerous chairs of the usually stuffy room, a pride flag badge pinned to the lanyards of every faculty member (except Miss Morte, who had it pinned to her tie instead). The Captain was completely aghast. His face clearly illustrated this. After a brief couple of minutes, Mr Courtnay stepped forward.  
"Today," he started, looking at the History teacher directly in the eye. "Today, every student will witness an assembly that will address the LGBT community both in society and within the school, and the next month of form tutor activities and discussions will be concerning this too."  
The Captain subtly grinned at this statement.  
"Every member of staff, and any student who wishes to, will wear one of these badges," continued the headmaster, all of the teachers who sat behind him proudly showing off the badges, including Fanny (who needed a little time to understand the Captain's sexuality many years ago). "Our school will make vast strides to become LGBT-inclusive, and homophobia of any kind will be punished by permanent exclusion."  
"Thank you," the Captain replied, his military-like position dropping. "Thank you. Words can not express my gratitude."  
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Alison, who was leaning back into the coarse, grey armchair. Smiling, she stepped forward.  
"I remember. I remember that day," she addressed the Captain. Her message was vague, yet the Captain knew exactly what she meant- the wedding, and her role as a flower girl. "You two deserve each other. You deserve this happiness so much," the Year Nine continued, her arms folded behind the crimson pull-over.  
After this initial statement, the floodgates opened, messages of support gushing in from all members of staff.  
"Loves be loves, Theo," Mary reinforced, beaming widely.  
"Romance of all varieties should be celebrated," Thomas declared, which received many confirmations of this fact from several other teachers.  
Even after he had long departed the staffroom, the messages of support continued from tutors and students alike; a pride-themed pen and flag had even found a home in his pen pot, due to the courtesy of several students. Twirling the flag around in his fingers, Theodore let a tiny smile slip out.  
"Maybe he's correct," he spoke to himself. "Maybe it will all turn out okay."

_______________________

Trembling due to the cold, the last few leaves fluttered off of the shaking branches into the November air. Due to the outpouring level of acceptance in Button Academy, the groundwork for a gay-straight alliance was being layed out, with Captain Majors and Miss Baker-Swan being the teachers responsible for the club's operation. No more attacks or acts of violence had occurred. Life at Button Academy returned to normal, which pleased the Captain greatly - the lack of order was starting to affect him.

One chilly Friday night, after Theodore tidied his classroom and grasped a stack of books that desperately needed to be marked, he bumped into Fanny in the car park, waiting impatiently by the bus-stop.  
"Oh, Fanny!" he greeted her. "Don't you normally drive your motor car home?" he enquired, his brow crinkling in confusion.  
"Yes, I do!" her sophisticated tone responded firmly. "However, your husband wanted to borrow the car, Heaven knows what for!"  
This statement confused the Captain more. Alas, he didn't have time to dwell upon it. Bidding farewell to Fanny, he slipped into his vehicle and departed the car park.

After a short period of driving, Theodore pulled into the driveway of his house. He had barely made it into the house when Adam came bounding down to greet him.  
"Teddy, there you are! Put those down - I want to take you somewhere!" Adam greeted him, a wide smile stretching across his face. Rushing upstairs to place the books in his study and splash on some cologne, Theodore left almost as quickly as he entered. Upon leaving the house, he discovered the Media Studies teacher (and love of his life) leaning out of the window of Fanny's 1930s Bentley.  
"Hop in," Adam's Glaswegian tone echoed throughout the empty street. "I want to take you somewhere."  
With that cryptic message, Theodore climbed into the passenger seat, the aged machine rumbling down the street and into the night.

 

_______________________

"You can open your eyes now," Adam spoke in a hushed tone, the sound scarcely making it to Theodore's ears. His eyes (which were instructed to be kept closed during the journey) gradually opened, the sight of a isolated ledge, illuminated by a single lamp, greeting him. The horizon displayed the city that stood below them.  
"This is beautiful, my darling boy," Theodore responded, giving Adam a deep, loving kiss. As they broke away, Adam simply smiled to him, fiddling with the car's radio until a song emerged from it.

' _Yours 'til the stars lose their glory  
Yours 'til the birds fail to sing'_

The smooth, silk-like voice of Vera Lynn broke out into the air.  
"Our song, our wedding song," the Captain breathed out, his heart swelling with joy. Upon seeing his blissful expression, Adam held his hand out for Theodore.  
"May I?"

' _Yours to the end of our life's story_  
This pledge to you dear, I bring'  
Grasping his hand in the hand of his husband's, the two teachers settled into a relaxed waltz, the starlight reflecting on to their faces.  
' _Yours in the grey of December_  
Here or on far distant shores'  
As the men twirled under the serene moon on that November night, Theodore smiled to himself.  
' _I've never loved anyone the way I love you_  
_How could I, when I was born to be_  
_Just yours.'_

Everything was blissful. Everything was calm.  
Everything was okay.


	7. The Science of Influenza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, giving it kudos and leaving all of the wonderful comments! This hasn't been beta read, so please inform me of any errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

Alison and Mike's final lesson of the day needed some intense mental preparation, as they were about to step foot into the chemical war-zone that was Room 58: Science with Mr Moonah.

"So," Mike addressed Alison, drawing out the vowel as he gripped the door handle. "What do you think it will be today?"

"Honestly, whatever we do today, something is going to get blown up-"

"Or melt the furniture!" Mike jumped in.

"Or melting the lab equipment," Miss Morte continued, "it could be that!"

Both adolescents released a hefty sigh- it's a miracle that no-one has been singed, corroded or otherwise incapacitated by Moonah's eccentric experiments.

"Ready?" the male of the pair questioned.

"I'm going to have to be!" Alison replied, pulling her lips into a tight line. 

Cautiously and carefully, Mike Cooper pushed open the sooty door of the classroom. However, upon stepping into the laboratory, the dishevelled hair of the Science teacher could not be seen anywhere. Instead, they were greeted by the brunette ringlets of Mr Thorne. 

"Enter, enter, sit down, you lowly juveniles!" the young tutor demanded, gesticulating wildly with his hands, indicating the rows of desks in front of him. Once again, Mr Thorne's impatience was showing itself.

Hurriedly, Alison and Mike picked up their pace, practically rocketing themselves into their seats. Olive irises met chocolate orbs; this was an incredibly unusual occurrence, because Mr Moonah was never absent. Eventually, every person in the class had filed into the room.

"So," Mr Thorne projected his voice towards the confused students as he flopped dramatically into the desk chair. "Apparently, you've been learning about reproduction? Please inform me if I'm hideously incorrectly, which is highly unlikely!"

Murmured affirmations from the students told him that he was not incorrect.

"Splendid!" the English replied, rising from his seat, turning towards the whiteboard which seemed to be crumbling off of the wall. As he began to rotate himself towards the board, the ivory door of the classroom collided against the wall.

"Afternoon, everyone!" announced Mr Fawcett, his ash-blond hair bouncing as he sauntered into the room.

"Oh, if it isn't Crowley himself!" proclaimed the English teacher, baulking at the Politics teacher's entrance.

"Come off it, Thorne, you're no Aziraphale yourself!" scoffed Mr Fawcett. "However, I did once attend a heaven and hell themed org-"

"OKAY! Shall we get on with the lesson?" Mr Thorne loudly and quickly interrupted, turning himself and his fellow teacher towards the board. Alison and Mike raised their eyebrows at each other, secretly preparing themselves for the anarchy of the lesson.

As Thomas meticulously copied a diagram from a textbook he found, he hoarsely whispered under his breath to Julian.

"Why on Earth were you asked to assist with the Science lesson regarding reproduction?!"

"Reproduction, you say? I'm going to enjoy this tres, tres much!"

Thomas felt his under-eyes sag at the speed of light.

_________________________

"Pat, must you organise your inane badges across the coffee table?" Fanny demanded, a scowl gracing her face. Whilst everyone else had occupied themselves with cups of tea and piles of unmarked books, the PSHE teacher had decided to arrange the latest batch of badges for his Boy Scout Troop (his much beloved Troop 8) across the chipped and faded surface of the coffee table. 

"Oh, don't worry, Fanny, I'll be cleaned up in a minute, it will all be as fresh as a daisy in no time!" Pat reassured, sorting the dinky embroidered badges into tiny piles. 

After a few minutes of this, Pat had remained true to his word, and had tidied away the badges into a segmented box. Alison walked into the room just as Pat had buried the box amongst the rubble in his bag, Julian and Thomas trailing closely behind her. 

"Julian, promise me, sir, that you NEVER teach a Biology lesson again!" Thomas stated blankly, sporting a rather severe thousand-yard stare. The Politics teacher simply smirked, "The students quite enjoyed learning about the intricacies of a Norwegian car boot sale!"

Rapidly turning around to face the teacher, Alison directly told her teacher "No, I can speak on behalf of Mike, Thomas and everyone else in that room that we did NOT enjoy that lesson, based on the fact that we didn't enjoy that lesson at all!"

The faint smirk on Julian's face died in an instant.

"Right, everyone, I believe that a quick meeting is required!" Theodore announced as he stood up, fiddling with his wedding ring (he had recently decided to display his sign of commitment to the world and, consequently, his students, a move very much approved by all parties - especially Adam). A series of brief groans rippled throughout the room.

"I'm sure that Robin's absence has not gone unnoticed by the troops. As we surely all know by now, Robin has taken ill," the Captain explained.

"Oh, flu, how exciting!" Kitty chimed in, beaming, not fully understanding the severity of the conversation.

"He has the lurgy!" Mary warbled from behind her mug of chai tea.

"No, Mary, he doesn't have the 'lurgy', but, like Kitty pointed out, he does have a rather nasty case of the flu!" Humphrey stated, his head ducking out from behind the fridge door. "We've ran out of semi-skimmed!"

Everyone tutted at the slight annoyance before returning their gaze to the History teacher.

"Now, I'm going to visit his quarters, check up on his health and well-being. Would anyone else care to join us?" he enquired.

"I suppose that I will come, check up on our resident Doctor Frankenstien," Thomas stated, sighing.

"I be comings withs soups! Georgie's favourites!" Mary replied, grinning at her fellow teachers.

"Excellent! None of those are plural, though," the Captain responded, his volume dipping for the latter part of the sentence.

One by one, each teacher confirmed that they will visit the invalid, with the reluctant agreement to visit from the Maths teacher also meaning that Alison will be visiting her ill teacher too. Alison plopped down onto the threadbare sofa and leant back, the possible outcomes of this 'brief visit' racing through her mind. Out of 4,286 possible outcomes, only 7 were vaguely positive.

___________________

At around five o'clock that evening, a small crowd of teachers had accumulated outside of Robin's front door. Peering up at the house, the relatively small building had defied all of Alison's expectations- she had expected one wall to be singed and ashy with the remnants of failed (or successful, Alison would never know) experiments, every third window to be cracked and for the residence to just be a shambolic wreck. Instead, the dwelling of Button Academy's Science teacher was located in a rather pleasant cul-de-sac, complete with glistening glass and carmine brickwork. There were even a dainty bed of flowers, petals of various hues twirling in the November wind in the soil.

"Auntie, are you sure that this is the right house?" Alison questioned, whipping her head around. Surely, they've taken a wrong turn at some point?

"No, this be the rights place!" Mary declared, directing her friendly gaze towards the Year Nine behind her, who was currently wearing a rather unsure expression. A steaming pot of soup was clutched in her left hand. 

"Don't worry, everyone! This definitely the correct place!" Kitty remarked joyfully, fumbling around in the pocket of her oversized, fluffy coat for something. After a few seconds of searching, the Music teacher produced a small bundle of keys, the dull metal of the various keys reflecting the faint moonlight. Lifting a simple, gold key from the loop, she approached the door and inserted the key, twisting it slightly.

"Since when did you have a set of key's for Professor Disaster's house?" Julian questioned, hugging his worn fleece closer to his chest.

"Oh, only for about four years!" Kitty announced, pushing the door open and strutting up the stairs. Mouths agape, everyone else could do nothing but trail up the slate-carpeted stairs after Kitty, heading towards Robin's bedroom.

Softly, the usually-bubbly teacher knocked on the chalk white door of Robin's bedroom, notifying him that she had arrived. After a small cough and a feeble cry of 'come' limped to their ears, Kitty pushed the door open, and everyone stepped inside.

Alison almost missed Robin, who had entombed himself with elephantine quantities of various cushions and throw-blankets. The Science teacher was leaning back into his pillows, his face gaunt and sickly with flu, tissues surrounding him like confetti.

"Ah, Robin, how are you feeling, old chap?" Theodore enquired, settling himself on the end of the bed, creasing the chemical-equation bedsheets. Robin pushed himself into a sitting position, intent on answering the question; the only thing that came out of his mouth was a series of spluttering coughs. Flopping back on to the mountain of pillows, every limb of Robin  Dimitri Moonah relaxed, his eyelids threatening to drop.

"Well, that's pretty conclusive!" the Captain stated, patting Robin's leg from under the duvet. "I'll go and look for some medication. Where is it usually kept Katherine?"

"Bathroom cupboard usually!" Kitty replied, pointing to the left.

Quickly, the Captain thanked her and departed the room, his mission being to search for any form of painkiller.

As the door softly closed with a click, Mary cautiously approached the frail Science teacher, a bowl of broth grasped in both hands.

"I brought you somes broths, my owns recipe!" she warbled gently, placing the bowl and a plastic spoon on to the over-bed table hovering above the bed. It took a few moments of struggling, but eventually, Robin had managed to swallow and at least keep the meagre gulps of soup down. Flu was a ferocious bear that was not going to give up the ghost just yet. A few minutes later, the room settled into a comfortable silence, the only noise filling the air being the light, yet restrained snores of Robin Moonah.

______________________

Returning from the bathroom, Theodore encountered Kitty on the landing, who was buzzing around the room with the duster.

"Ah, Katherine, there you are," the History teacher uttered to her, keeping his voice low in case Robin was resting. "Slight issue- I couldn't find any ibuprofen. Do you know where some might be located?"

"Robin is allergic to ibuprofen!" she replied, giving him a slight grin before it faded off of her face. "There's usually a small box of paracetamol, underneath his toothbrush?"

Shaking his head, Theodore informed her that his search had been rather fruitless, with no painkiller of any variety to be found. Kitty let out a minuscule groan, which caught Alison by surprise as she passed her French teacher. 

"I'll go and get some - there's a chemist at the end of the street, I'll just get my purse," Kitty informed the older male, approaching the stairs before turning back towards her student. "Would you like to come, Alison?" 

After a fleeting period of pondering, Alison decided to accompany Kitty to the chemist.

"Wonderful!" she replied, her expression morphing into a bright smile. "I'll just get my purse, and then we can set off!"

Around five minutes later, the silk magenta purse had been located, the group of concerned teachers had been informed and the two girls had departed the house of the ill tutor.

______________________

It had taken a twenty minute amble to reach the chemist at the bottom of Robin's street. Despite this, they had reached the chemist with relative ease, Kitty had purchased two boxes of capsules and both her and Alison were now meandering back to the house, with several thoughts dancing through Miss Morte's head.

"So," Alison began, processing her thoughts slowly in order to articulate them clearly. "You seem pretty close to Robin?"

"Oh, yes, we're the best of friends!" Miss Aster announced gleefully, a small spring in her step. "We were flatmates for about five years! I met him at a teaching conference-thing in around 2006, and we've been glued to each other's side ever since!" As she retold this story, her eyes seemed to shine with euphoria. It was blatant to see that she adored Robin.

"Aww, that's incredibly sweet, Kitty!" Alison remarked, a similar smile spreading across her face- Katherine's joy seemed to be infectious. 

"If you're so close to each other, why do you live in a pokey little flat and Robin now has this big house?" Alison enquired.

"Oh, Robin moved out a couple of years ago. He got this temporary job at the local uni as a Science professor there, so he had to move out to be closer to the place! He came back to Button Academy about a year or two ago, which is nice! Means I get to see him again!"

"Don't you miss living with him?"

Kitty paused for a moment.

"Yeah, I do. But, I have my sister for company. Not the same, but it's something!" Kitty finished her thought, her smile slightly sinking. "I know he gets lonely, but he's got his own life now, but..."  
"But you hate not being around, just in case something like this happens?" Alison finished her teacher's thought, a tight-lipped smile gracing her face.

"Yeah, yeah," Kitty remarked, her pace slowing a little. 

For the rest of the journey, the older woman spoke excitedly about her dear friend, sharing stories that Alison never expected to know or hear.

______________________

Several hours later, three paracetamol tablets and a million words of comfort, everyone bid a quiet farewell to Robin, exhausted, but thankfully on the mend. The horizon was a kaleidoscope of indigo and navy, the faint starlight highlighting the branches of the trees bordering the road. As everyone paved their way back towards their cars, the same thought was mulling through everyone's heads: would Robin be okay?

Fortunately, for both students and teachers alike, they would no longer have to endure the confusion that was Physics, Chemistry and Biology. 

"So, who do y'think we'll have today? Fawcett? Thorne? Baker-Swan?" Mike rapidly asked, his hand once again glued to the rusty doorknob of Room 58. Frankly, he was beginning to grow tired of endless stream of incompetent teachers. 

"Honestly, I don't even know, I just hope that we never have to listen about Jul-Mr Fawcett's Canadian cake factory again!" Alison replied bluntly, adjusting her pull-over.

"Well, only way to find out, isn't there?"

"Yep," she replied, drawing out the 'p' sound.

"Ready? 3,2,1..." Mike counted down, pushing open the woodworm-riddled door as soon as he reached the final number. When the pair had forced open the door, they were greeted by the sound of a brief sneeze and the sound of a combination of chemicals combusting in a jar. 

"HELLO! Welcome, missed you all! Sit!" Robin announced, still slightly nasally, but utterly bursting with enthusiasm. Alison and Mike exchanged a quick smile before racing towards their seats.

"Now," Robin addressed his class, placing both hands on his desk. "Who wants to go BOOM?!"


	8. A Good School (In a Roundabout Way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter has not been beta read, so please notify me of any errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

Alison Morte expects multiple events to occur on any given day at Button Academy: Mr Moonah will blow something up, Captain Majors would go on a rant about the punctuality of homework, an unsuspecting Year Seven will find a hair or a spider in their school dinner and Mr Courtnay gets blasted with some miscellaneous projectile. A sight that she would never expect to see when she poked her skull around the door of the staffroom is a dozen teachers in varying states of an existential crisis, frenzied book marking or a combination of the two.

"Ah, ah, ah! Young Alison! Oh, how glad we are to see you-!" Mr Thorne blethered, every inch of his face morphing into an expression of sheer belief. His eyebrows were furrowed, yet stood at a slight angle on his forehead, a pained smile painted on his face.

"You alright, Mr Thorne?" Alison asked, observing all of her teachers. "And... Mr Scout, Miss Aster, Miss Baker-Swan, Captain Majors, Mr Fawcett, Mr Courtnay... all of you! Is something the matter?"

Everyone grimaced. Everyone exchanged a silent question. Everyone looked expectantly at Fanny Button, the deputy headmistress. Huffing slightly, she straightened her posture, looking her niece directly in the eye.

"Ofsted are coming, and worse of all, that crazed lunatic, Mr Barclay Beg-Chetwynde is inspecting us!" the middle-aged woman spat out the words, shaking her head slightly. 

Alison's face paled; she had heard countless tales, limitless rambles and hours worth of complaining about this particular inspector. As a result of this, even though she had never clapped eyes on the man, she knew everything from his gait to his shoe size.

"Oh, not him!" the teenager moaned, hanging on the doorframe for a second before entering the staffroom, finding a worn space on the couch by the window between Julian and Mary. 

"Yes him, Alison, very much 'yes him'!" Julian groaned from behind his hands, his calloused fingertips prodding his eyes. 

"Oh, it's all your fault anyway, Julian, damn your eyes!" Thomas grovelled in an accusatory tone. Several years before she first step foot into the establishment, or any secondary school for that matter, Julian had made a pact with Barclay, a fellow teacher at Croydon Preporatory School and aspiring inspector. Due to several pints of bitter and some ill-advised decisions, Julian made a bet with Barclay- they would play poker, and whoever lost would have to resign. Naturally, Julian lost, leading to him applying for a position as a Politics teacher at Button Academy. However, many months later, Julian saw the older male at a garden party, leading to the 'accidental incident of the Politics teacher running over the inspector's foot with his Skoda.

"Beh-beh-beh-beh-beh-beh! I didn't mean to run his foot over with my car, he just happened to be standing there!" the sandy-haired man protested, gesticulating with his hands in a weak attempt to strengthen his argument.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, you told him to stand there while you check the petrol, you pillock!" Fanny stated, bursting into an outrage. As the entire staffroom descended into a hellish argument, Alison took her opportunity to leave, making her way towards the birchwood door. Today was certainly going to be interesting.

__________________

Peering out of one of the expansive windows, Mike and Alison silently watched and waited as a sapphire car rumbled into the staff car pack. Stepping out of the car, an elderly man with a broad nose and a sparse strands of hair climbed out of the passenger side, smoothing down his navy suit as he did. As he placed his foot down onto the gravel carpark, a woman of a similar age, with platinum hair and a pinstripe skirt also stepped out; the car's bumper also promptly dropped off as she shut the car door. 

"You reckon that's them?" Mike enquired nervously, glancing at his friend.

"Come along, Bunny, let's see what Fawcett's dump is up to these days!" Barclay announced, power-walking towards the main entrance.

"Yep," Alison confirmed, self-consciously adjusting the hem of her crimson pull-over as she spoke. "That'll be them!"

____________________

"Right, everyone, come in quickly, sit down!" Fanny commanded her classroom like a ship's captain, ordering everyone into their seats with a swift motion of her hands.This wasn't unusual behaviour for the teacher of Room 97 - she was incredibly strict, always in control, no matter what time or day it was. 

"As you all may have noticed, Button Academy is being inspected by Mr Beg-Chetwynde today, pay no mind to him, we shall I continue our lesson regardless of his presence!" she ordered, jabbing a finger at the flock of children sat before her. After a terrified nod from Mike, Alison and the other occupants of the room, the Maths teacher turned towards her blackboard (a relic of the 80s that she had insisted on keeping), carving some algebraic formula her niece is expected to understand on to the board. However, after a couple of seconds, she peered over her shoulder, stealing glances at the Ofsted inspector at the back of the room.

"You have any comments thus far, Mr Beg-Chetwynde?" she snidely enquired, pursuing her lips as she put the chalk down.

"Ah, none so far, Mrs Button!" he replied, smirking as he jotted something down on his clipboard. 

"What are you writing?" Mrs Button demanded, dividing two sets of worksheets to between two of her more trusted students whilst she marched to the back wall, her maxi skirt sweeping the floor like a tornado. "I demand to know what you are writing, as deputy headmistress, I demand to know, sir, what you are writing--!" 

__________________________

Mike and Alison couldn't have been more relieved to hear the bell, packing up their equipment and racing out of Room 97, intent on getting to Room 84 in ample time in order to catch a breather between observed lessons - Alison had quickly asked the Captain if he was being inspected at all during Period 2, which he responded with a resounding 'no'. 

"I would trade an eternity of World War Two lessons just so I can forget that!" Alison stated, chattering away to Mike.

"Yeah," he replied, running his hand over his chin, his fingers scratching over the beginning of faint whiskers. "Tell me about it!"

Due to the intense speed that they were pacing down the corridor, they had reached the History classroom in record time, ducking into the room rapidly.

__________________________

Robin kept his eyes trained on the clock at the back of his room- five minutes until lunchtime. 

"Clean! Sit!" Robin grunted at everyone quickly, ordering his ever-enthusiastic class to tidy away their equipment and take a seat, A mere ten minutes earlier, Barclay Beg-Chetwynde and his accomplice, Bunny Regium, had been sat in the room, discussing his lesson in hushed tones, panicking slightly as his demonstration concerning distillation erupted into purple smoke (not even Robin knew how that happened). He hated it: the ever-present judgement, the burning eyes, the scratching of notes unseen to his cobalt eyes. In short, he despised it- he just wanted to teach. After what seems like an eternity, the metallic ring of the school bell erupting into life. Sighing in relief, Robin, lifting his arms to the sky, praised any higher being of power for the bell, and headed towards the staffroom, intent on having a much needed rump steak sandwich.

__________________________

In just three months of attending the school, Alison had never seen such a miserable or terrified collection of teachers before or since that fateful Wednesday. Mr Thorne hadn't touched a piece of paper all day, Captain Majors had been practically near tears from being judged (thankfully, a quick phone call to Adam had managed to calm his jitters), Mr Courtnay had fluffed up an entire script, making a mockery of himself and Julian had virtually locked himself in the staff toilet. He had to surrender the toilet in order to escape to the staffroom, forever thankful that he only teaches three classes on a Wednesday.

"What on Earth are we gonna do? It's not like we can chase them away, we kinda need them, guys!" Pat asked, pressing his lips together underneath his thick moustache, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, his thick-framed glasses resting on the coffee table.

"We coulds always kills them!" Mary suggested, fiddling with her vibrant jeggings. 

"Kill them!" Robin echoed, gesturing with his hand. The staffroom fell into an awkward silence. Suddenly, the sleazy Politics tutor lifted his head up, smirking.

"I may have an idea, if you're all on board!"

__________________________

"Right, everyone, welcome to Politics 101," Mr Fawcett announced to the class, fiddling with his navy tie, the gold ring on his finger catching the weak glow of the overhead lights. "Today's lesson will be on funding!"

Alison grimaced- she knew what the plan was, she just didn't know when to strike. Mike was also grimacing, but for entirely different reasons. Politics lessons correlated with smutty anecdotes, in the male's mind.

"I remember," Julian started, causing every single teenager in that room to inwardly groan - they couldn't express their disdain physically because Mr Beg-Chetwynde was in the room. "I remember an incredibly funny story from the local elections of '04, where funding was one of the big issues, and Mr Chetwynde was present, a mighty force in the financial world before he got into this teaching malarky." 

This statement caused the inspector to sit up straighter, standing to attention. 

"That's an anecdote for another time, though," Julian smiled cheekily, turning his attention back to his PowerPoint, before proceeding to speak to the wall. "I would never imagine telling any of my students that he spent £5,000 on discreet gentlemen's services whilst his wife was away."

A choking sound. A strangled noise emerged from the back of the classroom, causing all students, including Mike and Alison, whipped their heads around to look at the tomato-red man at the back of the room.

Proud, beady eyes gazed into wide ones, wide with shock.

"You wouldn't want anyone to find that out, would we, Barclay?"

__________________________

"I must say, Mr Fawcett," Alison addressed her teacher, most of the faculty with the exception of Mr Courtnay, was peering out of the vast glass window of the school, looking down on the blue Range Rover, the inspector and the headmaster stood before it. "That really worked a treat!"  
"Thank you, Alison, but you will soon learn that my career in politics has led to a much treasured collection of blackmail!" Julian accepted the compliment, his broad hands folded behind his back. "Always a pity to let a little knowledge go, but hey-ho, plenty more in storage!"

Waving a final farewell to the inspector, Mr Courtnay traipsed over to his teaching staff (or the ones that chose to stick around in the staffroom anyway, hence the reason why no Geography teachers were present).

"So, I spoke to Mr Beg-Chetwynde, and he thankfully, thankfully, decided that we were a good school!" 

This statement brought great joy to the teachers, hollering in pleasure and relief. Unfortunately, the majority of their pleasure was drowned out by the spluttering of the blue car of the Ofsted inspector.

"Now," the Drama teacher continued. "He agreed to award us with the merit, providing that the incident of period 5, Politics, is never referred to again, are we clear?" 

Several mumbled affirmations confirmed this, a cacophony of voices agreeing that they'll never speak of the incident again. 

"Great," the headmaster gave a slight smile to his employees, and one of his students. "I believe that there is a bottle of lemonade in the fridge upstairs?"

As the band of teachers and the deputy's niece all made their way upstairs, huddling their coats around them to protect themselves against the winter frost, everyone grinned at each other. This little bubble that Alison Morte has fallen into is one that she never wanted nor expected to become an integral part of, but she couldn't be happier for it.

* * *


	9. Aster and Moonah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Comments are much appreciated! This also hasn't been beta-read, so please inform me of any spelling or continuity errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

Cardboard boxes: the current bane of Kitty's life. They gave you paper cuts of indescribable pain. They were always a hideous and tedious shade of brown. They also seemed to crumble into dust as soon as you exceed the weight limit of them, which was why a decent chunk of Miss Aster's belongings were now spread across the mossy pavement outside Robin's house. Alison simply groaned when this happened.

"Messy," the Science teacher observed, looking over his shoulder as he carried another box into the living room. Scooping up the moderately-sized pile of dresses off of the pavement, the French teacher returned the clothing to a different box. 

"Oh, can we please go inside? My loins are freezing over as we speak!" Thomas declared, swaddling himself further into the luminous orange parka that seemed to be swallowing him. He had made several poor decisions across his thirty-four years of existence, but agreeing to help Kitty move back into Robin's house was pretty high up that list. 

____________

Usually, Robin didn't feel the cold; he had felt this cold. Biting cold, unwelcoming and unpleasant. It seemed to swarm across the entire house, gradually tainting every inch of the house with frost. It grew. No matter the weather, or the temperature of the central heating, that awful chill never seemed to falter or disperse. 

He despised it. However, what drove him absolutely bananas was the fact that he didn't know why. Then, Kitty visited him. As soon as Miss Aster had stepped into his residence, a burst of warmth rocketed throughout the house, like the sun breaking through inky clouds. Despite being in the abhorrent grips of flu at the time, Robin felt every inch of heat that radiated off of her.

That's when he realised- the biting cold was the loneliness seeping through the brickwork. 

He missed Kitty dreadfully. Yes, he saw her practically every day at Button Academy, and they video-called each other at the weekends, talking until their ears fell off, but it wasn't the same.

He missed living with Kitty.

A few weeks after this epiphany, the younger female of the school's faculty was also beginning to feel this creeping cold. Although it was similar to the chill that the Science teacher had experienced, this sensation exploded into pure ice with what was meant to be a joyous announcement from her sister.

"I'm moving out- I'm engaged!" Gwen announced euphorically, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her ebony tresses becoming a lion's mane as she danced around the tiny living room of their flat. Swept up in the emotion of the day, Kitty shrieked with the delight, participating in the joyous bouncing and hollering. Despite being ecstatic for her older sister, the soon-to-be Mrs Kieran Kroft, when the Music tutor collapsed into the plush abyss of her bed, the empty pit in her heart couldn't be ignored. Even though her fuchsia bedroom usually swelled with heat, that night, it had shrivelled with sorrow.

It felt lonely, just like it had when Robin left.

She missed Robin dreadfully. They may have been colleagues, and they may chat regularly, but it will never replace the comfort of knowing that he's in the kitchen or the next room.

She missed living with Robin.

__________________________

This was far from Theodore's ideal Saturday. If it were up to him, he would be folded up in his beloved velvet sofa, marking a mountain of History papers to the sounds of Vera Lynn and Al Bowlly. Of course, Adam would also be there, bustling around with mugs of tea and Media Studies coursework. 

Alas, this was not the case, judging by the fact that Theodore Majors was carting an infinite stream of boxes between the moving van and 39 Rutherford Road's front door, steadily becoming a lovely hue of blue. December was a fond month to him for many reasons; the weather wasn't one of them.

"At least I've got you, dear," the Captain sighed, handing a striped hat box to his husband, tugging his wool hat over his ears. The Glaswegian simply smiled as he stepped into Robin's foyer. 

"Come on, guys, we've only go' a few more boxes left!" Pat chirped, his ear muffs sliding down his head as he hauled a few pieces of the woman's bed-frame from the back of the moving van. It was your run-of-the-mill, sketchy white van - it had the appearance of a lorry, but it had obviously served multiple roles over the years. The metal shutter was contaminated with rust, the ivory panels dented and scratched. In summary, it scarcely looked safe. 

"Can we get on please? I have other, more urgent matters to attend to!" Julian stressed, his leather trench coat squeaked as he assisted Mary in pushing the wardrobe into the house. 

"Ye gots no urgents matters to attends to! We alls knows that you don't marks your books!" the Home Economics teacher squawked, her coarse, canary scarf snaking around her legs.

"Do you not mark our books, sir? Bit irresponsible!" Mike proclaimed, peering over the top of a vast pile of Kitty's clothes. Since she didn't particularly want to perish from boredom, Alison (who was currently preoccupied with reassembling Kitty's bed upstairs with her aunt and Mr Courtnay) had roped her friend into helping. 

"Neh-neh-neh-never mind that!" the politician protested. "Now, put that down and help me and Mary get this blasted closet into this house!"

"You've spent too much time in America, sir."

"I've never been. My films of preference allow me a bit of an unbiased look-in though!"

The teenager didn't even want to know what movies Julian watched in his free time.

______________________

"Pass me that allen key, Alison!" Humphrey stated, holding his hand out expectantly. The chaos caused by the rest of the faculty was completely audible- judging by the sounds ascending from the front garden, there seems to have been an incident involving a chest of drawers and Thomas' leg. Whatever had occurred, Kitty was giggling maniacally at the spectacle, her fluffy hat shaking with delight.

"Here you go, please don't lose this one," Miss Morte replied, holding two oak panels of the frame into place. At this moment in time, she would like nothing more than to send any and all IKEA flat-packs hurtling towards the moon. Poking their heads into the room, Kitty and Robin took this opportunity to take in the sight of what was once the male's spare room. Now, it was Katherine's room.

"Oh, my! This looks sweet! I love this already, what do you think, Robin?" the Music teacher babbled, clasping her hands.

"Pretty..." the Science teacher hummed in agreement, his umber irises glancing at the rose-gold wallpaper, snow-toned roses patterning it. Replacing the creaking, beige floorboards, pale birch planks now adorned the floor. Overall, the entire space appealed to Kitty greatly. 

"Yes, yes, Kitty, it's all very dainty and prim, but haven't you got something more riveting to attend to?" Fanny demanded, passing a few screws to her superior. Exchanging a look, the roommates exploded into a fit of laughter before stumbling back downstairs, presumably to assemble Kitty's wardrobe and desk with the others. 

"Ludicrous children," the Maths teacher muttered under her breath, her blonde bun wobbling as she shook her head. Alison smiled, before peering back down at the instructions, the grin swiftly vanishing as soon as she saw the next step.

"Damn this bed!"

"Watch your tongue, young lady!"

______________________

When the rest of the faculty, who also had Mike and Adam to aid them, began to assemble the new resident's desk and wardrobe, despite being some of the most intelligent people in the area (Julian Fawcett even had a first from Cambridge), they had all failed to take one major element of the house into consideration: the stairs. This was why the Captain, his husband, Thomas, Mary, Julian, Mike and Pat were all straining with effort, attempting to push the ivory furniture up the flight of stairs.

"Pivot! Pivot!" Theodore declared, clutching one end of the wardrobe mid-way up the stairs.

"Teddy, I love you, but now is not the time for 'Friends' references!" Adam replied, raising his eyebrows from the other end of the wardrobe, trying to avoid kicking the English teacher, who was compressed between the underside of the hefty wooden structure and the slate-carpeted stairs.

"Just shift the wardrobe, you bumbling simpletons!" Thorne bellowed from under the wardrobe, gradually pulling the furnishing up the stairs.

Upon a count of three, all three men heaved, the remainder of the faculty shrieking words of encouragement from the bottom of the stairs, where they were all waiting with the desk. Mike, on the other hand, had a simple wooden chair in his grasp. Eventually, through sweat and strain, the wardrobe was placed in Kitty's bedroom, joining the now-completed bed-frame. Toys and throw blankets had already assaulted the furnishing. 

"Nows push!" the Home Economics teacher warbled, lifting the desk above her head. 

"Heh-heh-heh-hold on!" Mr Fawcett started, backing against the wall to allow Mike and the solitary chair past. "You can't lift the device over your head, it will be like trying to do the Malaysian bus bounce on the sofa!"

Groans filled the room. 

"Lower the desk, please!" Pat asked politely, brushing his mustache away from his lips. "Then, we might have a chance of getting it up the stairs!"

Briefly rearranging their positions, Mary looked up at the Captain.

"Yes please, Mary!" he replied, waving her up.

Like they had done with the wardrobe, after a few minutes of grunting and one trodden foot, courtesy of Mary's plimsoll, the desk was safely in Kitty's room. 

Wearily, once they had all crowded into the younger female's room, everyone except for the house's occupants decided that they were never offering to help with moving day again. 

______________________

As frost settled on to the edge of the windows of 39 Rutherford Road, a gentle glow from within warded off the darkness of December. Propped up on the dark emerald carpet of the front room, Mr Robin Moonah and Miss Kitty Aster were engaged in a rather light-hearted game of Monopoly. 

"Me winning," Robin grunted happily, gazing down at his cards.

"That's nice!" Kitty replied, rearranging her money into petite piles next to her. "But I shall defeat you, Robin!" 

Laughter ricocheted off the walls of the living room, which now housed treasured memories of both the Science and the French teacher once again. As the pair giggled into the night, the pleasant warmth of joy filled the air. There was only one word for this arrangement: blissful. 

Both teachers were overjoyed to be back where they belonged. They were both overjoyed to have each other back.

Hopefully, for forever. 


	10. Fighting Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you spot any grammatical, spelling or continuity errors, as this has not been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to the ghiscord server :)

When Mr Humphrey Courtnay first took over the role of head-master of Button Academy nearly thirteen years ago, he would probably describe his most notable annoyance as trainers; they completely ruined the image of a school, and they spurred more arguments than the Drama teacher could be concerned with.

What was his current pet peeve? Mobile phones. More specifically, smart-phones with cameras.

As soon as Humphrey stormed into the staff-room one chilly December afternoon, just after the final bell, a few of the other faculty members had noticed that the thin coating of frost on the windows had suspiciously melted. This only meant one thing: Humphrey was livid.

"Something wrong, Humphrey?" Pat asked, adjusting his fringe as he talked. "You look quite tetchy!"

Slamming the door to the fridge that had been gaping open moments before, the head-master spun around, his dark eyebrows furrowed with fury.

"Something wrong?! **Something wrong?!** " he roared pacing over to the rest of the staff, several of whom were now cowering away into the recesses of their seats. "I've just spent the last hour dealing with Larry Tudor and Simon Stewarts, two ludicrous boys who decided to have a brawl at lunch-time, and I have just been informed by one of our Year 11 prefects that someone has **FILMED IT** and posted it online!"

Tea-cups rattled in the hands of the teachers. Moments like this were incredibly rare, moments where Humphrey, usually one of the most placid and mild men in this chaotic tornado of a school, turned into an irate volcano, his complexion as scarlet as lava.

"Oh, mobiles, portable monsters in a teaching environment," Julian drawled, crossing his denim-coated legs (typically, the dress code for Button Academy stated that jeans were not classed as appropriate attire for the staff, but an exception had to be made for Mr Fawcett). "However, in the bedro-"

"No, you farcical imbecile!" Fanny abruptly cut him off, her trademark scowl gracing her face.

"For goodness sake, Julian, keep your libido in check!" Theodore scolded, clutching his swagger stick with white knuckles.

Amidst all of the arguing, not a single person had realised that Alison Morte had stepped into the room, her leather school-bag swinging behind her back. A hybrid of fear and concern arose in her features, as the teenager's hazel eyes had just caught sight of eight teachers in various stages of terror, and one cherry-red Drama teacher.

"Hello... everyone?" Alison nervously asked, wide eyes darting around the room. "Why does it look like everyone has just watched 'Night of the Living Dead'?"

After a few seconds of anxiously peering around the room, Thomas muttered and stood up, adjusting his floral waistcoat. 

"Two buffoons had taken their tomfoolery too far this lunchtime, leading to them having a sparring match out in the open! Not very gentleman-like, and some other halfwit has decided to escalate the situation by recording it and sharing it!" the English teacher explained, exaggerated gestures accompanying his recount of events.

"Ah, I see," Alison replied, pulling her lips into a tight line. Yes, she was a little more well-informed, but Humphrey's exasperated face was now the same shade as her carmine pullover. "Well, I don't have any homework tonight - maybe I could help you all?"

Mutterings of disdain and uncertainty responded to this suggestion. 

"I don't see why not! Might make Sir's face a bit more... human-coloured?" Miss Morte weakly suggested.

Sitting up straighter, Theodore's azure eyes bore into his student's hazel irises, giving her a firm look.

"We appreciate your offer of assistance, Alison, but I believe this is a matter we can hand both strategically and alone," the Captain stated, patting down his slate comb-over as he spoke. 

"No offence, you guys, but Aunty once posted an unflattering under-the-chin angle to the school's Facebook page, and Mary once shared her phone number in a comment on a post about internet safety," the young woman remarked, a dry tone lacing her voice.

"Thats be an accidents!" the Home Economics teacher replied, shuffling her lesson plans in front of her face, an obviously feeble attempt at hiding her embarrassment. Everyone else in the space of peeling plaster were also displaying similar signs of mortification, except from Kitty, who, as always, looked as cheery as ever.

Eventually, Humphrey collapsed dejectly into the battered blue armchair.

"What can you do for us?"

________________________

"Our objective of this mission is to find the person who recorded the lads' scrap," Theodore Majors stated, his focus fixed upon the three mobile phones resting on the coffee table. One belonged to Robin, another phone belonged to Julian and the final phone belonged to Alison herself. One in a chemical equation phone case, another in a phone case resembled the 'female form', and another one was in a sleek, ivory phone case with a gold letter 'A' in calligraphy.

"Right, so what year group is the filmer in?" Alison enquired, her slim arms propped on her hips.

"Nine, Ten. Boy." Robin grunted, peering over the girl's shoulder, wild tufts of hair tickling the back of her head.

"Year Nine or Ten lad?" Alison replied, turning around. She received a nod of affirmation from the Science teacher before turning her attention back to the multiple phones. "Right, that narrows it down quite considerably."

Grabbing two of the phones, Miss Morte quickly tapped her details into Facebook on the phone of the Politics teacher and into Instagram on the mobile phone of her Science teacher. Once she had punched the details in, she placed the phones back on the coffee table. Snapchat sat open on her own device. After a few moments of stabbing swiftly at her Snapchat account, the dialling tone rang out into the room, shushing everyone in the noise. Mere seconds later, a high-pitched tone emerged.

"Ah, Alison, what can I do for you?"

"Hey, Verity, about that fight at lunchtime, is there a video knocking around somewhere?" the teenager enquired, the coils descending from her half-up, half-down hair-do bouncing as she talked.

"Oh, yeah! It's been plastered across Facebook! Last account I saw, you know Graham Gilbert? Well, he had a fifty-second clip of the fight on! Haven't seen it on Insta though!" Verity nattered, scarcely pausing for breath.

"Ah, great. Thanks, Verity, talk to you soon!"  
"See ya, later, Ally!"

Placing her phone back on the table, Alison sighed and began to scroll through Julian's phone.

"Must you speak to that girl every night? Her constant stream of nonsensical chatter is exhausting!" Fanny proclaimed to seemingly no-one, as she never received an answer. 

"So, we have a few options?" Humphrey asked, itching his beard. 

"A couple, yes," Alison remarked, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she messaged Graham- it was approaching five o'clock in the evening, and everyone wanted to go home.

__________________

About twenty messages and five minutes of tense silence, Alison swapped the phone from Facebook to Instagram.

"Ooh, are we getting somewhere?" the Music teacher joyfully asked. Somehow, despite spending several hours cooped up in an increasingly-chilly room with nine other exasperated people, her enthusiasm and euphoria never faded, never ebbed away. 

"Yep!" the student replied, her pullover long since abandoned on to the matted couch. Frankly, she quite regrets taking it off, because the radiators had decided that it was time to go to bed and had packed in about half an hour ago; she didn't have time to worry about that, though. She had a mystery to solve!

"Graham said that he got the video from Rhodri Ramsey, but he won't tell him who had the video first!" Miss Morte explained, her eyes never shifting from the phone.

"Rhodri, excellent at History!" the Captain announced, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Utterly terribles at sewings and cookings, though..." Mary Baker-Swan remarked, looking up at Theodore.

"This seems like a waste of time, Alison, if you don't mind me saying. Who's to say that Rhodri will give you the video?" Humphrey enquired with chagrin, wiping his tired eyes.

For the first time in two hours, Alison tore her gaze away from her phone.

"Oh, it won't be hard," she replied, before addressing the room. "Apparently, he fancies me, so it won't be hard!"

A choked, hoarse sound escaped Fanny's throat. Pat Scout, the PSHE teacher, had to discreetly slide in front of her to prevent her from approaching her niece in a rage.

"How... dare he-" the deputy headmistress began, before being quietly cut off by Julian.

"Now's not the time, Fanny!" he whispered, the sentence sliding from out of the corner of his mouth.

Once she had turned down the volume of her phone, the teenager held the phone up to her ear, the faint sound of a bubbly dial tone floating out of the phone.

"Hey, Rhodri! How's it going?" Alison greeted him, a somewhat sultry tone washing over her tone. It was now her aunt's turn to become a crimson tint.

"Yeah, yeah, thank you. Hey, listen, do you know who gave you that video... yes, the one with Larry jabbing his fingers into Simon's eyes?"

Thomas grimaced.

"Well, I know that you wouldn't want anyone else to find out about the incident in the toilets last week?"

Everyone else joined Thomas, albeit more confused, but still grimacing.

"Great, cheers!"

And with that, Alison Morte hung up, and faced her teachers who were partly perplexed and partly repulsed.

"Oh, relax- all he did was make a toilet paper sculpture of me at lunch in the bathroom last Monday!" Alison cheekily responded, prompting the faculty to either snicker or groan.

Humphrey made a mental note to deal with Rhodri later.

______________________

The next day, after a stern warning to delete the offending video from Humphrey, the recorder of the video, John Rudrick, in addition to Larry Tudor and Simon Stewarts, were quietly dealt with. Rumour had it that you could hear Mr Courtnay roaring at the three boys for about thirty minutes.

If any of the boys knew that Alison had played an invisible role in this investigation, they didn't say anything.

They had learnt to keep their tongues tied from now on.


	11. Festive Foliage (In The Wrong Place)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the ghiscord server, especially Ghibaryghat for suggesting the idea for this chapter :)
> 
> Please tell me if you spot any spelling, continuity or grammatical errors, as this has not been beta read!

Metallic streams of gold, ruby and emerald began to grace the hallways and door-frames of Button Academy. Miniature plastic trees, bursting with petite baubles and twinkling lights, appeared in almost every classroom, seemingly overnight. The crowning glory of the school, an elephantine fir tree, verdant and luscious, was now shimmering with light-bulbs that were as radiant as the stars, a majestic angel overlooking the school from the peak of the plant.  
In other words, December, and therefore Christmas, had stormed into Button Academy, and every inch of the establishment had been overrun with the festivities of the season.

"Now, this is how it works," Alison Morte started, a velvet Santa hat clutched in both hands as she addressed the room. "All of your names have been written on little slips of paper, and placed inside this hat!"  
"Like snowflakes!" Kitty Aster proclaimed joyfully, twirling and twiddling the silk ribbon tied at the top of her dress.   
"Yes, Kitty, if you like. Now, you will all take in turns to pull a name out of the hat. If you pull your own name, you have to put the card back and choose another one," Miss Morte continued, glancing up at the battered clock hanging on the wall; she had ten minutes to explain the concept of 'Secret Santa' to a group of semi-confused teachers before she had to hot-foot it to tutor.   
"What occurs once we choose the names?" Thomas Thorne asked, his hands folded neatly against his waistcoat. Due to the season, the English teacher felt that it was the natural choice of attire was a satin waistcoat, patterned with mistletoe and holly leaves.   
Fanny had proclaimed it as 'gaudy' - Pat had called it 'boss'. Neither was a positive sign. "Then, Thomas, you have to buy and wrap a Christmas for the person on the piece of paper," Alison replied, switching between playing with the ivory bobble on the hat to adjusting pieces of her light chestnut hair. "Everyone will exchange and open the gifts here on the last day of term. Got it?"  
Everyone nodded in affirmation.   
"I want to introduce a price limit for the gifts! Maximum amount of money you can spend on a gift is £10," the girl's aunt announced, her mouth twisting into a sour expression.  
"Oh, you tight cow!" declared Julian, sprawling himself across the musty, olive sofa in the centre of the room. This sentence was greeted by a smack on the arm, courtesy of the Maths teacher.   
Sighing, Miss Morte began to pass the hat around, each member of staff pulling a petite piece of paper from the heap of velvet fabric, passing the garment around all of the faculty until everyone had a name.  
Swiftly, Alison glanced around the room. Theodore, Fanny and Julian were all sporting expressions of both confusion and disgust, Mary, Kitty and Robin were all peering at their slips with a slight sense of joy and Pat's beam was virtually spreading off of his face, whereas Thomas and Humphrey just looked like they had seen a ghost lurking in front of them.  
Thankfully, the Year Nine student was rescued by the piercing scream of the school-bell, indicating the beginning of the tutor time. As she raced out of the door and down the creaking stairs, Alison began to wonder what this particular day will bring to the table.   
Knowing this place, it was probably a rather outrageous event she could do nothing but roll her eyes at.

___________________

"Michael Cooper to the headmaster's office, please!"  
A low, static-filled rumble erupted out of the tannoy system. Groaning and scampering out of the room, the door to Room 32 clicked as it closed behind Mike, leaving Alison to deal with a table of four other chatty students, attempting to focus on the worksheet about internet safety that had been dished out by Mr Scout.   
"Alright, gang!" Mr Scout announced, clapping his hands and bouncing gleefully on the balls of his feet. "The bell's going to go in about five minutes, so feel free to pack away and hand in your worksheets! They look rad, by the way."

Raising from her beige, plastic seat, the teenager quickly etched the names of both herself and her friend onto the back of their worksheets before handing them in.  
"Oh, cheers, Ally!" her PSHE teacher replied, his typically euphoric smile emerging from underneath his moustache. Alison grinned back- it was quite infectious. Mere moments later, the brass bell shrieked, launching the room into further chaos. Looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, Alison just had one question rattling around in her mind as she sauntered down the corridor, intent on heading towards the canteen: why was Mike called out?

________________

Mike quivered as he trudged towards Mr Courtnay's office. He knew exactly why he had been called out of his lesson: Daniel Bellingham. During break-time, the two mates were mucking about, like they usually do. However, the situation escalated and got ever so slightly out of hand, which was why Danny was now en route to the hospital.  
Secretly, the adolescent had been hoping for a few spare moments to think about what he was going to say to Mr Courtnay; he wasn't particularly fond of enraging his headmaster. Unfortunately for him, this privilege would not be granted to him, as Mike was immediately greeted by the sight of the Drama teacher propping his office door open for him. As he suspected, he didn't look pleased.  
"Ah, young Michael Cooper, I've been expecting you," Mr Courtnay announced, brushing his goatee wearily. The teenager felt that it was necessary to hunch his shoulders. He had the right to be sheepish, especially in this situation.

An air of intimidation lurked in the atmosphere of the headmaster's office. Dark oak bookshelves lined the back wall, each space filled with leather-bound, aging books, the pages crisp and weathered. Sage carpets covered the floor, connecting to the umber panels lining the walls. An iron chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, rings of ivory candles lining the metal frame. Speckles of melted wax were clinging to the antique fixture. Directly underneath it was Mr Humphrey Courtnay's desk, a vast, ornate piece of furniture, two worn, crimson chairs pushed against each side. Humphrey sat behind the desk, his student choosing to sit in the opposite seat.  
"So, let's get straight down to business," Mr Courtnay started, adjusting his ebony tie. "I was made aware by our receptionist that Daniel Bellingham had to go home early due to an incident that occurred at break-time? Apparently he now requires medical attention because a pussy willow ended up in the boy's ear?"  
Mike felt like shrivelling, like a wilted plant.  
"W-we were just messing about, all in good fun, Sir, " the young man remarked, holding his head in his hands. "It was an accident, I swear, Sir! I can't apologise enough."  
Mike looked earnestly at Mr Courtnay. After a few seconds, the tutor leaned back into his chair.   
"Okay, I believe you. In my opinion, a detention is still in order, so you will have to remain behind after-school for half an hour tomorrow, do you understand me, Michael?" Mr Courtnay stated bluntly, his slate eyes boring into the sepia irises of the Year Nine student.   
"Yes, Sir, I understand."  
"Good. You are free to go, Michael."  
"Thank you. These look nice, mind if I take one?" Mike enquired as he plucked a chunk from the ornate dish on his teacher's desk and popped it into his mouth.  
"That's potpourri, Michael."  
The potpourri crunched and crackled in the teenager's mouth, swiftly spitting the offending substance out and apologising.  
"Enjoy your lunch, Michael."  
With those final, few words and a gesture towards the door, Mike raised from his seat and traipsed out of the office, releasing a substantial sigh he had withheld.  
"Alison is never gonna let this one down!" 

___________________

As soon as she heard about Mike's pussy willow endeavours, Alison had greatly difficulty suppressing her laughter through Geography and Politics. Her complexion turned as red as Rudolph's nose.  
"Oh, Mike!" she chided him jokingly, attempting to conceal her laughter. Naturally, she failed miserably, nearly doubling over as she walked towards the car. Since she usually stayed behind with the vast majority of the faculty, she had decided to wait around for Mike. His detention with Humphrey wasn't that long anyway. "You honestly need to start thinking things through!"  
"I do, Ally, I do!" the teenage boy protested, hauling up his backpack as he paced towards the after-school bus. "We were just messing about!"  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll see you tomorrow, right?" the female of the pair enquired, grinning at her companion.  
"Yeah, yeah," the adolescent replied as he stepped on to the bus. "See y'later, Ally!"  
Miss Morte chuckled to herself as she waved her best friend off; she adored him, but he was an absolute moron sometimes. In a good way- obviously.

Turning back towards the dilapidated building, Alison rolled back her shoulders in order to brace herself for the tirade of Christmas-related questions: organising 'Secret Santa' has been an... interesting affair. An interesting affair for a bunch of interesting people.

She wouldn't have it any other way.


	12. He’s Behind You!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are any continuity, spelling or grammar errors, as this hasn’t been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to all of you for reading this, and special thanks to the ghiscord :)

As he slumped in the coarse seat of the bus, Humphrey Courtnay regretted even suggesting that Button Academy and the Byron Institute should have a joint visit to the local theatre. Yes, he adored pantomimes. Yes, he enjoyed the humour of it, as well as the costuming and the staging, but maybe not this much…  
“Heads up, sir!” hollered Julian from one of the back seats. Whipping around to look at him, the headmaster was knocked back, the force of a packet of ready salted crisps colliding with his face. He released his first hefty sigh of many.  
“Mr Fawcett, p-please try to retain contr- oh, for God’s sake!” remarked Humphrey with exasperation, collapsing further back into the seat. A few moments later, he felt the seat next to him sink; someone had joined him.  
“Ah, Humphrey, this was a charming idea!” drawled Toby Nightingale, leaning nonchalantly into the adjoining chair. “This was a marvellous idea, though I do wish that you had hired a better bus.”  
For an English teacher, Toby had always been, and would probably always be, incredibly blunt.  
“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, your school could have pitched in!” Humphrey remarked grumpily, rubbing his eyes. The other headteacher waved him off.  
“Details, details!” he proclaimed, waving his hands around wildly as he chortled. “I’m just glad that your ruffians are behaving themselves.”

Sitting a few rows back in the vehicle, Alison and Mike were peering out of the window, conversing with each other. Thankfully, they managed to sit next to each other; there was no need for them to sit next to one of the Byron students. The students of that particular school had a reputation for being haughty and infuriating.  
As the bus bounced across the road, the young male kept having to bat away a loose piece of tinsel. The olive decorative item dangled persistently in front of his face.  
“So, the Royal Howick Theatre…” the dark-haired boy commented, looking at his azure-eyed companion.  
“Yeah, the pantos are meant to be amazing.  
What are we seeing again?” enquired Miss Morte, her eyes darting over her phone.  
“Erm… Cinderella, I think,” he replied, itching his chin.  
Out of thin air, a plastic bottle catapulted through the air, hitting Alison on the head. Pulling her lips into a fine line, she heard a couple of the Year Nines from Byron snickering. Mere seconds later, another bottle flew over their heads. The plastic container somersaulted directly into Mr Courtnay‘ head.  
“This bus trip better be over soon!”  
*

Counting students was like herding cats: frustrating, near impossible and makes you want to claw your face off. As it stands, Humphrey, Julian and Mary were all attempting to head-count a bus-load of students from two different, rival schools. And what was Toby doing? He was casually leaning against the marble wall of the theatre, watching with mocking, amused eyes.  
”I thinks I counted them alls, but I can’t be sures!” Mary Baker-Swan proclaimed, marking down something on her printed register. Through the thin sheet, the head-master could see that she had doodles various cartoon animals on the margins; they were the same doodles that typically adorned her detention request forms. Internally, he groaned. Again. Swiftly, he spun on his heels, and began pacing towards the negligent principal of Byron.  
“Mr Nightingale! Mr Nightingale!” hollered Humphrey, taking (what he thought and hoped were) strong strides towards Toby.  
Toby simply smirked and scoffed silently.  
“Mr Nightingale,” Humphrey began, his hands fiddling with the button of his burgundy blazer. A forest of umber curls rustled as Mr Nightingale stared at him. “Could you please fill out your own register for your class? My faculty have completed ours and due to the, er,  
boisterous nature of some of your students, we’re finding it a little hard to count.”  
Unfolding himself off the wall, the principal of the Byron Institute sauntered towards the headmaster of Button Academy. Lengthy, dexterous fingers snatched the flimsy paper from Humphrey’s hands. With an over-exaggerated sigh, he strutted towards his students. Dramatic hand-claps filled the car-park, silencing his students immediately. 

Humphrey felt himself become a marvellous shade of red. He felt as though he were a volcano, ready to boil and explode, engulfing everyone in lava, the magma reducing that blasted private school to ashes.  
Just a personal fantasy of his, as he stood in the dull car-pack, surrounded by exasperated teachers and rowdy students.  
He’s 88% sure that as soon as he settled into the seat in the amphitheatre, everything would cool down.  
*

The Royal Howick Theatre. Some people said that it was the finest theatre in the county. Lavish, velvet seats, sloping upwards as you walked further away from the stage. Vibrant crimson curtains adorned the stage and every window, chandeliers of exquisite crystal dangling from the arched ceiling of the establishment. Sleek spotlights designed to illuminate and enhance peppered the roof, every ornate detail slotting together perfectly. Oh, how it brought a tear to Humphrey’s eye.

“Wow. Very fancy, fits for queens!” Mary warbled as she ushered students into their seats. Across the entire set of stalls, the faculty members from both schools were escorting hordes of teenagers into their seats; some were excited beyond, some were already wilting from boredom. However, to the surprise of no one, Toby Nightingale had already settled into his seat, a gargantuan box of popcorn nestled in his lap. It was almost impressive how apathetic he was acting towards his students. Essentially, he had left Mr Usbourne and Mr Corrigan to manage the Byron Institute crowd by themselves.  
Lion taming without any arms would have been an easier task. 

“That Mr Nightingale is a bit of a…” Mike started, smoothing out his carmine pullover as he leant back into his seat. Due to being sandwiched in a crowd of energetic Year Nines, his programme was now sporting various creases and wrinkles. Battered and crumpled, the booklet was beginning to bear a striking similarity to Mr Courtnay’s forehead.  
“Pillock?” Alison suggested, observing the architecture.  
“I was thinking more along the lines of prick, but whatever,” the male whispered, eliciting several splutters from Alison. This brief moment of joy (which was welcomed with open arms after that torturous bus journey) was swiftly shattered by a stream of students occupying the rest of the row. Lines of ebony, ivory and tangerine intermingled with each other; the vivid colours made Mike’s eyes ache, even when the house lights began to dim.  
What failed to decrease was the Byron students’ volume.  
“This is going to be drivel.”  
“I expected the Royal Shakespeare Company, not poncy ‘Cinderella’!”  
“Just think, for the Button crowd, this is their idea of entertainment! Can you believe it?”  
Smug, condescending tones hung in the air like an atrocious smell. Everyone, from the faculty to the performers felt it. 

The opening instrumental had just begun to play, and Alison Morte was already praying for the curtain call.  
*

Lurking at the back of the theatre, Julian, Mary and Humphrey sat in a petite row of seats. It was blatant to see that these rows were more threadbare, a stain on the rest of the decor. Unlike the flamboyant theatrics occurring on stage, the teachers of Button Academy were attempting to have a discreet conversation.  
“They better get on with it. I have a meeting with the local council at four, and they’re not keen to hang around!” the Politics teacher proclaimed quietly, his dirty blonde quiff protesting in unison. Occasionally, one of the stage lights would catch the surface of his ring, causing the glint to shoot into the audience.  
“Oh, hush nows!” Miss Baker-Swan mumbled into his ear, her wide eyes pinned to the actors. “I likes the costumes. Very fancy.”  
Unlike his staff, Humphrey made no attempt to make conversation. All he desired was a bit of light-hearted theatre, regardless of how amateurish it may seem. His admiration of serious drama was in equal measure with his fondness for pantomime.  
“I just wish I could see. Did anyone bring a cushion?” enquired the headmaster in a hushed tone, squinting and raising himself up in an attempt to get a better view. Normally, he wouldn’t choose back row seats, but this would have to suffice.  
Mary’s eyes traced the dance moves of the actors; Humphrey’s irises took note of the enthusiasm of the performers; Julian’s eyes watched the clock with boredom.  
He just wanted to leave.  
*

Both schools had managed to avoid a substantial disaster for the vast majority of the production. Despite some sweet-flicking from a Byron student, who was now sandwiched between Mr Usbourne and Mr Corrigan, and an impromptu shoving match between two students from the rival establishments, everything had gone swimmingly.  
“Oh, this is utter toffee!”  
“I quite agree. Why I ever agreed to a joint trip will be beyond me.”

Apart from the jeering remarks from Mr Nightingale and his entourage. Positioned in the three seats before Alison and Mike were the figures of the three Byron Institute teachers: Mr Nightingale, the headmaster, Mr Usbourne, who taught Music, and Mr Corrigan, a History teacher. Clearly, they had other ideas about what they could have been doing with their time, instead of watching three grown-men in cheap costumes belt out ‘Sincerely, Me’ with a few of the lyrics modified in order for it to fit with ‘Cinderella.’

“So, what exactly is going on?” Mike enquired, leaning over to his friend so she could hear him. With the heavy music emitting from the stage and the whisper-shout conversation in front of them, it made it incredibly hard to hear, let alone understand what anyone was saying.  
“I think Buttons is replying to the invite so Cinderella can go to the ball?” Alison replied, quite unsure herself. Humming in response, Mike shuffled away. 

“This is shit!” hissed Mr Usbourne, attracting some looks from the Button Academy students, and a hearty smack from his superior. The misbehaving student that sat between him and the History teacher of Byron cackled like the evil stepmother.  
The entire scene was a pantomime in itself.  
*

Julian couldn’t feel his backside anymore. He had timed this entire performance impeccably: they arrived at one, the performance started at half-past and the entire show is an hour and a half long. It was now quarter to three, with one final song and fifteen minutes left to go before he could make his grand escape back to the bus; with bus travel time and the car travel time taken into account, Mr Fawcett should arrive at the offices of the local council at ten to four.  
He had no idea why he was more eager to sort out his bins rather than ‘enjoy’ the theatre with five other teachers and just under 100 students. 

Then, it happened. Sailing above the crowd from somewhere in the middle of the stalls was a large tube of fruit pastilles. The cylindrical object crashed through the air and the lid popped open, spraying sugar-coated sweets across the first few rows and the cast, who were currently interrogating the villain, about to make his grand race throughout the aisles.  
“Get him!” roared one of the Byron Institute students, a girl in the horrendous school blazer with flowing blonde hair.  
Like an avalanche, fifty students, each and every one of them adorned in the hideous striped jackets stormed towards the stage. The stampede rapidly split into two groups - one all swarmed the villain, barricading him into a corner of the theatre while everyone insulted him and threw crisps at him, the other raced on to the stages, taunting the rest of the cast. 

Not even Mr Nightingale’s claps and Mr Corrigan’s ranting could make them stop. It was dog eat dog, every man for himself, kill or be showered in popcorn and teenage sweat. 

The Button Academy students, who sensibly remained in their seats, resembled a pool of blood, their ties and pullovers blending in with the scarlet seats. All they could do was look on in terrified awe.  
“What... am I watching, exactly?” muttered Mike, his umber eyes wide as the chaos unfolded around him. Every single teacher present was simultaneously dragging the Byron students away while apologising profusely to the cast.  
“Who knows. But you know what?” Miss Morte replied, looking directly at her friend.  
“What?”  
“They’re all getting coal and a lifetime ban for Christmas!”  
*

The Byron Institute were now permanently banned from the Royal Howick Theatre; Button Academy were welcome to visit again.  
The piece of golden tinsel dangling into Toby’s face was vexing him more and more, the decorative item mocking him for the animalistic behaviour of his students. The next time it came even remotely close to his face, he batted it away with such a force that it fell off the window on to the sticky floor. The heavy fabric of the adjacent seat sank as Humphrey slid into the chair, a slight smirk barely concealed on his face. 

“I could have died then,” Mr Nightingale announced to the other headmaster, leaning his head dramatically against the window of the bus.  
“I’m just glad it wasn’t one of my students,” Mr Courtnay stated, brushing his dark locks away from his face. “You should really teach them that despite, being in the type of school they’re in, they don’t rule the world.”  
“Believe me, behaviour and mass detentions will be on the agenda when I return to my office!”  
“Banned from the Royal Howick Theatre, what would their darling mums and dads say about that?”  
“Piss off, Courtnay.”

Sitting a few seats behind them, Alison was conversing with Mike. A light tapping sound as she typed on her phone filled the silence between sentences.  
“What you doing?” he asked, his tongue rolling across the top of his teeth.  
“Christmas shopping. Oh, and letting my aunt know that the bus is on its way back to the schools,” Alison responded, a faint smile gracing her face. She peered out the window. The first few flickers of December frost and snow was obscuring her view. “Imagine if that was us!”  
“I know,” the male teenager responded, running his hand across his face. Stubble had recently decided that it wanted to join the party that is Mike Cooper’s face. “She would have blown up!”  
Alison snickered. That wasn’t too far from the truth. 

Rolling into the Byron Institute car park, the iron door of the bus popped open, allowing the disgraced students and embarrassed teachers to depart. As they gradually filed out of the vehicle, the burn of Mr Nightingale’s eyes piercing into the back of their necks, one of them tossed a Santa hat in the direction of the Alison and Mike.  
After a few moments of twisting the garment, the boy tugged it on his head before looking at his female friend with a deadpan expression. 

Her shoulders bobbing up and down, Miss Morte was helpless. A jet of laughter funnelled out of her mouth, her entire body doubling over due to Mike’s new hat. Soon after she began, Mike began to do the same, his own giggles causing the bell on the fluffy hat to jingle in time with the music playing on the radio. 

 

Christmas was dawning over Button Academy, and the ban of the Byron Institute was the first gift they had torn open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment. You can also feel free to create fan-art if you wish :)
> 
> Come shout at me on tumblr - @bluedalmatian14


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